


Coda

by lilyconrad



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Choreographer Ben Kenobi, Dancer Anakin, Drama, Fluff, Happy Ending But Some Angst Along The Way, M/M, NSFW, Sex, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, obiani, obikin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad
Summary: Anakin is an up-and-coming first soloist for the New York City Ballet Company, a brash, confident dancer with a smoldering sensuality to his technique and an electric smile that makes fangirl toes curl and quite possibly his choreographer’s.





	1. New in Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FireflyFish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyFish/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, baby! Hope you like it! <3
> 
> Note: This fic is a Christmas present for my lovely girlfriend Fireflyfish, based on [her prompt here](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/post/154316721997/f-r-and-n-please). 
> 
> If you know my other stuff this is going to be much lighter in tone, and probably around 10-12 chapters. Updates will be around every two weeks.

When Ben Kenobi emerged from the subway stairs onto a busy New York street the mid-December wind hit him full in the face, the cold evening breeze sighing through the bare branches of the trees across the street and the icicles that hung from them before snapping the awnings out of a few buildings out on the side he stood on. He tugged his scarf higher and set his small rolling suitcase down to roll behind him in a low grumble of wheels on pavement, looking in wonder at the small forest that was Central Park before turning and putting his back to the vast, stark expanse of trees and hunting up and down the street for the address he was searching for.

“Dakota… Dakota…” he murmured to himself, quickly finding the stately sprawl of a building Google Maps had promised him would be here as the winter wind did its best to steal in past his coat and gloves. A huge wrought iron gate, security guard, and a stroll across a paved courtyard watched by another security guard who helpfully pointed him in the right direction later, Ben found himself standing in the entry of an apartment larger than the house he’d grown up in, folded into a tight, welcoming hug by its owner as Christmas songs and conversation poured out of the rooms behind him to the scent of fresh evergreen wreaths and at least three trees he could see.

“Ben!” Bail Organa laughed, slapping him on the back and pulling away to hold him by the shoulders. “It’s been awhile!”

He was as tall, broad, and jovial as Ben remembered him, and Ben did his best to smile back from under all of the weariness he felt after a very long day of travel as he slid out of his coat and handed it to a silent servant waiting off to one side. “It has, Bail! Thank you for inviting me to your party tonight. But why did you want me to come straight from the airport?” he asked, nodding down to his suitcase.

“When you said you were coming to town the day of our party, inviting you was a given,” he said, avoiding the question. “Now what hotel are you staying at until you find an apartment to rent?” he inquired, and Ben had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was coming no matter what name he gave. But he tried anyway.

“Oh no, you’re not staying in that dump. Until you find an apartment you like, you’re staying with us,” Bail declared, waving his wife over from the edges of the partygoers framed in gorgeous woodwork and low, rich light. “I’ll pay whatever fee they charge for cancelling.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to--” Ben began, but his old friend was already turning away.

“Breha, my dear! Look who made it!”

Mrs. Organa floated over to them with a delighted gasp, immaculate and bright as always, one of those people who made friends just walking into a room. “Ben Kenobi!” Kissing him on each cheek, she beamed and hugged him as excitedly as her husband had. “So when do you start that choreography job?”

He tugged his scarf loose with one hand, patting her shoulder fondly with the other. “Well, the contract begins in January so I thought I’d get here now to start looking for a place.”

“Wonderful!” She took his hands and squeezed, the small line of diamonds at her throat sparkling as she leaned back to study him. “I’m sure Bail told you you’re staying here, so that’s settled,” she said, tapping him on the chest and not pausing at all to give him a chance to argue. “Now, go get something to drink and to eat and we’ll put you up in the…”

She thought about it, looking back at Bail, who raised his eyebrows in a silent, amused question, so obviously, completely in love with every little thing his wife did Ben had to smile. “The room we just remodeled? Or the room in the corner?”

“It's too bare right now. Let’s go with the one in the corner,” he nodded, gesturing for another servant who had melted out of the tastefully decorated shadows to take Ben’s suitcase. “Will you show him the way, please?”

And that was how Ben found himself in a cozy, opulent room with a soaring ceiling, a view of Central Park across the street and a bed that was so comfortable part of him wanted to strip down and go to sleep right then and there as soon as he sat down on the edge of it. Lately a full night’s sleep had been hard to come by anyway, and the transatlantic trip had only put a new, jittery edge on that weariness.

But it was only nine, the small silver clock on his dresser told him, and the sounds of the party drifted through the door in muffled strains, the festivities picking up steam as more and more people arrived.

He knew it would be the worst possible manners to lock himself in his room after his old friends’ kindness, so he dutifully changed into fresh clothes, running a hand through his auburn hair and studying his reflection in the mirror that hung next to the towering wardrobe big enough to hide in if the urge struck.

_Body still on London time, thinks it’s… what…  2am? Check._

_A week of stubble? Check._

_God, I look a mess._ Sighing, he pushed the sleeves of his brown sweater up, checked his boots for obvious scuffs, and hoped his dark jeans wouldn’t be too casual for the occasion. He’d seen quite a few people on his way through the party wearing similar clothing to his, even if he was sure most of their outfits likely had an extra zero tacked onto each piece.

 _Just a little while_ , he told himself. _An hour at the most._

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later and Ben was about to fall asleep standing up, leaned against the paneled wall in a corner of the apartment’s library with the cold weight of his second drink in one hand and a notecard in the other. “Thank you?” he said, unsure of what he was supposed to do with it.

An adorable girl likely just out of high school had circled through the crowd, wearing felt reindeer horns and a bright red dress, passing out the small cards with a bright “Merry Christmas!” to everyone she gave one to. _Probably someone in Breha’s opera program_ , he had thought as he had taken one.

She looked at him expectantly, so Ben looked at the handwritten note on his and read it aloud to himself. “What is a sugar plum fairy?” he said, turning the card over and finding nothing there.

“It’s a conversation card,” she explained cheerily, undeterred by his puzzled expression. “You go up to people and ask them the question and they have to answer,” she said, already moving on to the next room and her felt horns disappearing into the crowd.

“Like this,” Ben heard from behind him, a playful male voice that sounded older than the girl but younger than him. “How did Grandma get run over by Santa’s reindeer if they’re always flying from house to house?”

“Pardon?” he asked, sure his exhaustion was messing with his hearing as he turned toward the speaker.

Facing him didn’t help Ben’s thinking. In fact, it only made things worse.

Standing in front of him was one of the most handsome men Ben had ever seen, around ten years younger than him and all bright blue eyes, friendly grin and tall, slender grace. He lifted the card and read it again in a mock serious voice, the bell on the cheesy Santa hat he wore jingling as he nodded his head at the end of the question. “How did Grandma get run over by Santa’s reindeer if they’re always flying from house to house?”

Ben took in with a swallow the fine lines of the younger man’s slender neck disappearing into a loosely tied scarf-- _Why is he wearing that in here?--_ and wisps of wavy brown hair trying to escape the white edging of the hat, trying to remember the bizarre question.

_Something about a grandma and reindeer._

Lost in the young man’s high cheekbones and tanned skin, Ben shook his head in slow, puzzled defeat. “Ah, do please forgive me. I still don’t understand.” There was something familiar about him, even in the low candlelight and with that ridiculous hat covering his hair, but Ben couldn’t place what it was.

His questioner paused. “Oh, wait. You’re British, right?” He smiled, no mocking in his tone as he tucked the little card into the back pocket of his tight black jeans. “Don’t worry. It’s about an American Christmas song.”

“Ah, I see. Wait, Grandma didn’t get shot?” Ben joked in his usual deadpan as he took another sip of his whisky.

The man laughed, a warm, inviting sound, and pointed down. “What’s yours?”

Following the line of his finger, Ben remembered the card in his own hand. “Ah, yes. Uh, ‘What is a sugar plum fairy?’”

The answer came with no hesitation and an eyeroll directed to the ceiling festooned with evergreen and tiny white strands of lights, an affectionate annoyance directed at someone other than Ben. “High maintenance.”

Ben blinked, curious given the young man’s answer and lithe build, and decided to see if his hunch was right. “How cavalier of you.”

Those lovely blue eyes dropped back to Ben, surprised and pleased. “Was that a ballet joke?”

“It might have been,” he said, unable to resist his playfulness and clear interest. “But only if you liked it.”

“Are you kidding? I love puns. Do you dance?”

“I... used to,” Ben shrugged, far more interested in learning more about him than he was in talking about himself. “You?”

“Eh, a little,” he returned with the same nonchalant shrug Ben had given, and Ben wondered just how such a simple gesture could suddenly be so enchanting. _His smile… I could just stare at it all night._

“Ben,” he said, holding out his hand with what he hoped was a smile half as charming.

“Anakin,” the younger man answered somewhat reluctantly as he shook Ben’s hand, clearly waiting for the befuddled look that never came and chuckling in relief after a long moment. “Wow, you should go to Vegas with that poker face. My name always gets stares.”

“I have a unique first name myself.” Ben lifted his glass in a salute to him and then an impromptu set of carolers wandering by, singing arm in arm. “Yours actually sounds interesting. ‘Anakin’… is it Hawaiian? Or Norwegian, maybe?”

“New Age.”

“Oh, no. Not your parents too,” Ben laughed as Anakin joined in, wondering if he’d fallen asleep against the wall and was dreaming at this point. _He is perfect. Absolutely perfect._

For some reason Anakin seemed to think the same about him, the way he held Ben’s gaze intently, biting his lip without realizing it, and Ben was glad for the cover of dim lighting and goodwill filling the air. _Don’t argue with good luck, Ben_ , he told himself, trying not to feel self-conscious as Anakin gave him another dazzling smile that made him feel like they were the only two people in the crowded room. _But why does he seem so familiar? I would definitely remember meeting him._

“You live here or visiting, Ben?” Anakin wondered as his phone buzzed inside the other back pocket of his jeans.

“I have a new job here starting in January,” Ben said, figuring he’d have to repeat himself at the sudden, intense frown Anakin gave his phone. _That’s not a good text, whatever that is._ “I’m staying here with the Organas until I find an apartment.” Taking another sip of his drink, he watched Anakin’s shoulders tighten as he looked up from the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Without realizing it, Anakin took in and let out a deep breath in a clear attempt to forget about whatever it had been, and smiled even brighter at Ben, a new determination there that hadn’t been a moment ago. “So, uh, you said you’re staying here?”

“Yes. Bail and Breha are far too kind.”

“Show me your room?” he asked innocently, his voice casual but his eyes glinting with growing mischief.

_Oh._

_Well._

Ben swallowed the rest of his drink and set it down with a thud on the nearest table, letting the heat of it burn through him and give him just a little more courage in the face of Anakin’s bold invitation. _I love this city_ , he thought to himself, inhibition first weakened by weariness and alcohol and finished off by the beautifully anxious way Anakin licked his lips. “And here I thought New Yorkers were supposed to be unfriendly.”

“I’m from Arizona,” Anakin said with a sage nod, the bell on his hat jingling, and Ben had to laugh.

 

* * *

 

The party rolled along out in the elegant sprawl of the apartment against one wall of Ben’s equally dim room, the cold winter wind still gusting outside against the other, and he sat between the two on the edge of his bed, hearing neither at all.

All of his attention was currently focused on Anakin, who had deftly pushed him to sit down and climbed to kneel atop him the second the door was shut. Ben’s breath hitched in his throat at the solid, taut thighs spread over his lap -- _Oh yes, he is definitely a dancer. --_ as Anakin leaned down to kiss him with a mouth as warm and inviting as his smile.

Then there was no party and no wind, no room and no bed: just the intoxicating, luscious press of Anakin’s lips to his.

 _Oh God yes._ Ben slid his hands up along Anakin’s jeans, up his back, fingers tracing over every fine muscle barely hidden by the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

Their kisses deepened, Anakin’s head tilted down to his as he straddled him, Ben cupping his jaw gently until the pom-pom tail of Anakin’s hat tumbled down to land with a gentle, fuzzy thump against his face.

They pulled apart in breathless grins, and Ben gave Anakin a mock-stern look, lifting the Santa cap off his head and tossing it back over his shoulder and the other side of the bed.

Anakin’s hair came loose, looking better than it had any right to after being under a hat, waves and curls hanging just below his ears, and deep in his desire Ben felt that strange sense of familiarity once again.

“Have we met before?” he whispered, sliding a thumb over Anakin’s chin, dragging it across his pretty lips.

“I would remember meeting you, Ben,” Anakin told him, slipping his hands under Ben’s sweater and undershirt to run them up his chest, fingertips cool on his skin. “British accent, hot, a body like this? When did you stop dancing? Like, yesterday?”

Trying to hide his blush, Ben pulled him down for a sudden, deep kiss and Anakin happily obliged, settling down into his lap and giving a slow, teasing grind against him.

“So, I have to ask,” Ben offered between kisses along Anakin’s cheek as he undid Anakin’s scarf. “Just how friendly are Arizona..ites? Arizony...ers?”

“Arizonans,” Anakin offered, turning to steal another kiss from him as he tugged on Ben’s sweater. “Hmmm…” he said, pretending to think about it as he slid his hips back and forth over Ben’s in a rough drag of denim on denim and the growing hardness beneath. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On you,” he winked, running a finger down Ben’s stubbled jaw. “But I wouldn’t worry,” he reassured him. “I definitely feel the urge to be friendly with you.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” Ben grinned up at this lovely younger man, the bedside lamps giving him a halo of gold in his brown hair, wondering what he had done right in a past life to get this kind of welcome to New York. “It’s my accent, isn’t it?”

“It definitely does not hurt your chances, Ben,” Anakin grinned back, pulling Ben’s sweater and shirt over his head in one long tug and flipping them back over his shoulder on the opposite side of the bed from the discarded Santa hat. “Damn,” he said, dragging the word out in appreciation as he sank back into a kneel on Ben’s lap. “Neither does this.”

Ben chuckled, too pleased and tired and with just enough alcohol in him to not dismiss the compliment. He lay back and put his arms behind his head, enjoying the tension, the attraction seething between them as Anakin bent over to leave a trail of deliriously sharp kisses and bites down his chest and stomach. It had been a while since he’d had an experience like this, something unexpected and quick and virtually anonymous: it made every touch, every lap of Anakin’s tongue and nip of his teeth along Ben’s skin feel like fire.

He sat up to kiss Anakin and slid his hands out behind him to prop himself up as Anakin rubbed him through his jeans, working the flat of his palm up and down the crotch and bulge there. “Nice,” Anakin managed, breaths shallow and quick with his own rising desire as he unzipped Ben’s pants and slipped his hand inside.

Ben struggled to find words at the feel of Anakin’s fingers tracing along him, tugging his stiff length out into the cool air of the room. “Why do… ah… you get to have all of the fun?” he asked as Anakin, clearly enjoying the hoarse need in his voice, stroked him. “I want to play too.”

Anakin nodded and wordlessly reached down to undo his own pants with his other hand and shove them and his underwear down around his thighs, quickly giving Ben something thick and hard of his own to fondle as they licked and sucked at each other’s throats and collarbones, falling deeper into a lusty haze of heat and gasps.

“Is this… do you want more...?” Anakin murmured, breathless as Ben worked his hand up and down in the shadows of his hips.

Ben nibbled at his ear, his stubble brushing Anakin’s cheek, thinking about it, or trying to past the delicious friction of Anakin’s fingers around him. “This… this is good… I like this…” It was both true and convenient, the last coherent part of him thought: he hadn’t brought any condoms on the plane with him and he doubted Anakin just happened to have one. “You?”

“Me too,” Anakin gasped, his blue eyes intent on Ben’s, rich and hazy as the sky on a hot summer day as he stole another kiss. “Harder... please…”

Ben smiled and did as he was asked, loving the gasps each flick of his wrist produced, trying not to lose himself entirely to Anakin’s touch before Anakin climaxed. He wanted clarity, or as much as he could manage, when Anakin came, wanted to see his fine mouth part and hear the ragged, stifled moans that would be necessary to keep their little game undiscovered by the people laughing and conversing just a few steps away behind the door.

When Anakin did Ben was fighting off release himself, but it was worth the delay to watch Anakin’s eyes finally flutter shut and his pretty teeth clamp down on his lip to muffle his groans as he came in a soft, warm spray along Ben’s stomach. Closing his own eyes, allowing his body to overtake his mind, Ben shoved his hips upward into Anakin’s twitching hand, adding with a harsh, bitten-off curse his own line of white across Anakin’s a few minutes later.

Still lost in the pleasant aftershocks of his own orgasm, Anakin kissed him, a satisfied, lazy swipe of his mouth, and stumbled back off the bed to get tissues from an elegant, antique side table by the door. Returning with a tired flop to lie down on his side next to him, Anakin gently wiped Ben clean and then himself as Ben lay back and tried to get his breath back, staring up at the ceiling.

They lay there for a while in the dimness, their breaths wavering with shared, luscious heat, the two in perfect alignment as sure as a mirage trembling over the sand that had created it.

Ben eventually broke the silence with a long, content sigh.

“I love New York,” he whispered in awe, and they both laughed, a beautiful sound echoing over the Christmas music outside.

“Me too,” Anakin said, reluctantly standing and pulling his jeans back up. Zipping them shut, he crawled back onto the bed over Ben and zipped his shut too before he gave Ben another rough, happy kiss and looked down at him with apologetic eyes. “Look... I really hate to do this, but I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I have to get going.”

“Oh.” From Anakin’s flushed smile, he had clearly enjoyed himself, so maybe he was telling the truth about his job: Ben knew all about long hours and early starts. Feeling confident, he decided to take a shot at perhaps another, longer evening like this one at a later point. “Ah, could I give you my number? In case… uh... my love of New York begins to slip?” he asked playfully, too content with the world at the moment to feel self-conscious but not wanting to pressure Anakin into giving up his number if he didn’t want to.

“Sure,” Anakin agreed, obviously pleased with the way Ben had phrased it. He sat up, straddling Ben once again and a lovely sight to behold but now where there had been tension they was now only sated, true relaxation. “Hit me.”

Ben told him, Anakin thumbing in the numbers on his own phone, and then Anakin was snatching up his Santa hat and scarf off the floor, waving them at Ben and wiggling his eyebrows as he slipped out the door to the strains of a carol and clink of glasses. “Merry Christmas!”

“You too!”

Ben smiled at the door long after it closed before stretching and sighing up at the shadows of the room’s high ceiling. _That was incredible._

_I wonder if I’ll ever see him again._


	2. See Me

There was something deeply soothing about an empty studio to Anakin: the simple walls and floors, the sweep of mirrors, the silence. As he hurried through the early January cold toward the Lincoln Center with long strides, bundled up against the brisk winter weather, he found himself thankful for once for the insomnia that had plagued him recently because it meant he could actually find an empty one at this hour.

There were only a few dancers who routinely showed up this relatively early in the morning, the rest starting to trickle in a couple of hours later, and they spread themselves out among the practice rooms in an unspoken agreement to not bother each other.

Anakin, a recent and surprise convert to this schedule, traded quiet nods with the other early birds as he came in and wound his way deeper into the building, passing doors propped open to let more heat from the hall into the cavernous studios.

He slowed when he found the one he usually favored and paused in the hall, listening carefully as he peeked in the window set in the door. The faint, rhythmic thuds of steps and landings and the strains of music emanated from the studio to his right and the quiet murmurs of conversation from the one on the left but there was no sign of anyone in his.

Centering himself in the moment, closing his eyes as he opened the door, he took a deep breath and let it out, leaving everything that worried and troubled him right there in the doorway he stood in.

_It’s just a few weird Instagram requests and a couple of boxes of weird stuff. They were delivered here anyway._

_It’s not like whoever this is knows where I live._

_I’m safe here._

When he felt better, as settled as he could be, he propped the door open and crossed into the room to drop his bag against the near wall, slowly shedding layers to pile atop it until he was down to snug black sweatpants and a dark grey shirt. From there it was routine: beautiful, predictable routine. Stretch. Warm up. Practice.

Anakin loved to dance, had loved to dance ever since he was a little boy with too much energy who made too much noise and was always in trouble for it until one day his mother had found a dance class for him, a place where he was stunned to find people wanted him to move and clap and jump. He had always felt as if his body were his voice, able to express all of the beautiful and horrible emotions he experienced that he never could find the words for, and the first time he’d seen a ballet performance put on at the same school, he’d known exactly what he wanted to be.

Now as he worked through the steps for the new solo he’d recently been given, he let his tension out, gave free rein to the worry and anger trailing his movements and let them take control of him. His body swayed and bent, his arms extended in long, aching reaches to the currently invisible lover played by one of his best friends, a principal that was likely still asleep with her girlfriend at this hour.

It felt good to suffer like this, to drown himself in sadness that was only a refined echo of the real world, and he followed along instinctively, improvising when he couldn’t remember the steps. There was plenty of time to learn it as the ballet master-in-chief Kiadi Mundi would demand it be learned. But for now he could enjoy it his way, and he ran through the steps again and again, his character’s heart breaking over and over until Anakin’s breath came in harsh gasps and a dark line of sweat worked itself down his shirt.

Sitting down by his bag for a break, he fished a bottle of water out and took a gulp, leaning against the wall and thinking about knocking the wedge out that was keeping the door propped open. He was definitely warm enough now even if the room hadn’t really changed temperature much.

Reaching for it, he stopped as he heard new voices coming down the hall and pausing a few studios down. One was instantly recognizable: Mundi. And with him, a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

“Yes, she is a beautiful dancer. Such confidence. She’s been with us for seven years.”

“I definitely would like to talk with her about a part.”

“Given what we’ve discussed, I would also recommend another one of our soloists for what you have in mind. If he’s here I’ll introduce you to him--”

 _The new choreographer’s here?_ Anakin wondered with a grin, shoving the bottle back into his bag and leaping up. _Mundi’s got to be bringing him down to me. I’m the only guy practicing in this hall._

It only took a few seconds to bound back out into the middle of the room and start again, the uneasiness of earlier burned away and a new desire shining brightly in its place. _His name is Kenobi, I think. He’s doing one of those year-long residencies._

Anakin tugged his shirt down and smoothed it with one hand, recalling the snippets he’d watched online of this choreographer’s other productions: precise, dazzling pieces that wowed professionals like Anakin as much as they had the largely lay audiences that had filled theaters for his shows. _He could be my key to more roles. To getting moved up from soloist to principal._

Settling into position, Anakin gave a huge, eager smile to the wall of mirrors as he heard the conversation outside start to move again and decided to change up the mood of his role. _See me_ , he thought as he began the steps with a gentle bend of his knees into the light bounce of a faille assemblé, the character parading in a quest for attention from his dear one and shadowing her as she danced away, turning from him. _I am here._

People had watched him all his life once he had discovered the stage, and he didn’t glance over or pay the men any mind as he heard the door creak open, too focused on his role and moving too quickly to register them as anything but two people standing in the corner.

 _See me_ , the character begged even as he did, landing with a solid thud from a double cabriole he knew in the back of his mind to be picture-perfect from thousands of hours of practice. He danced with elegant strength, subtly demanding attention, pulling playfully at unseen sleeves, stealing around in front of where his would-be lover would be and then back again as he sought to make her smile.

He could feel Mundi’s curious gaze on him and knew the ballet master had to be wondering why Anakin was suddenly dancing this part as if it were the opening scene of a spring pastoral rather than the sorrowful piece it had been written as, but he didn’t stop or offer any explanation.

He was too caught up in the moment, shifting the character’s thoughts to his own desire for attention, for recognition, as he arched his back and bowed before sweeping back upward, the fine line of muscles in his arms tensing as his narrow hips twisted and he spun around in a grand pirouette.

 _I am here,_ he declared with his body as he spun in perfect balance, his dark curls falling across one eye _._

 _See me,_ he called without words, long leg extended gracefully as he whirled _._

 _Love me._ He finished with a few light steps forward to sink to his knees with his head down in front of his invisible partner. Panting softly, he finally looked up across the room, breathless and blue eyes wide with emotion and the half-remembered desire to impress, and found Ben looking back at him.

Ben.

From the Christmas party at the Organas Anakin had attended on his one day off in December.

Ben, the incredibly hot British guy who Anakin had happily jerked off and then been too busy to really think about during the general insanity the Nutcracker season always meant for ballet companies.

 _He’s our new choreographer?_ Anakin wasn’t sure if all of the color was draining out of his face or rushing to it, but the quick, nasty sink of his stomach was undeniable. _Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

Whatever initial reaction Ben had had upon seeing Anakin he had missed, and now Ben’s grey-blue eyes-- _it was so dark at the party I thought they were grey--_ regarded him with an unreadable look, his expression the careful, neutral one of any choreographer sizing up a dancer.

“Ben Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker,” Mundi said, not noticing the tension in Anakin’s shoulders as he stood and quietly walked over, forcing his shoulders back so they wouldn’t droop in embarrassment.

 _Oh Christ._ Every memory of that evening, until now pleasant enough Anakin had returned to them more than once in the darkness of his cramped bedroom, curdled into shame at Ben’s impassive expression. _Great first impression there, Anakin._   

Ben held out his hand, pale fingers cool as Anakin took them and no hint of further warmth in the handshake itself. “It’s nice to meet you, Anakin,” the choreographer said politely, not correcting Mundi’s assumption they had never met and his English accent giving a cool crispness to the words not unlike the winter wind outside.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There goes my role. There goes any role for the whole year he’s here._ “You too, Mr. Kenobi,” he answered with the best smile he could manage, thankful for enough professional rejections when he was younger he knew he could at least keep it together until he got home to let out how he really felt about this cruel new surprise fate had dealt him. _I just have to get through the day, pretend for the next twelve hours I’m not a dumb little whore that literally fucks myself out of parts-- No. Later. He’s right here in front of you. Focus, Anakin. Come on. You can do that right at least, can’t you?_

“Sorry, one more time?” he asked Mundi, dimly aware the ballet master had said something, glad for the chance to look away from Ben’s unreadable face.

“Ben is our new choreographer in residence for this year, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Anakin.” Turning, he continued, “Anakin is a first soloist and has been with us for the past four years. He’s moving his way rather quickly up our ranks.”

“Yes, I’ve seen videos of some of your performances. Very expressive,” Ben said with the barest of smiles and a glimmer of discomfort in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Anakin nodded, doing his best to keep that happy, charming smile plastered on his face. _That’s why he thought I was familiar at the party. He’d just never seen me up close before. And I had that stupid, stupid hat on._

“Well, we’ll leave you to your practice, Anakin. Have a good morning,” Mundi nodded as Ben stepped back into the hall without a backward glance, the two men beginning a new conversation about costumes that Anakin didn’t bother listening to as they walked off and around a corner.

He gave one glance to the mirrors, hating the person he saw there, and launched back into his steps, pushing himself harder and harder until there was only the song of his body and the drum of his heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

Ben sat in the little office that was to be his for the next year, a narrow window on one side letting in the bright afternoon light and bookshelves stuffed with reference materials all around him, the faint perfume of a scented candle still in the air from the last guest choreographer.

There was barely enough room for the monster that was now his desk and the two padded chairs likely refugees from the 1980s facing it, dark brown and the leather worn. This was a room that its owner hardly spent any time in, the entire set-up told him, and normally that would have pleased him a great deal. He lived for work, for the endless and varied demands of his job, and despite the nasty surprise at the beginning of the day most of his excitement for this job was still intact.

_It’s the New York City Ballet. I am a choreographer for the New York City Ballet._

He tried to smile to himself, but his gaze never left the door. He’d had dancers in and out all afternoon, interviewing them, wanting to get a sense of their personalities and give them a chance to talk about themselves without their peers standing around.

And while the work was going, moving along steadily, he had been mostly happy and content even as his pencil ticked down the alphabetical list from A ( _Amidala: principal, confident and friendly in person as much as in her performances)_ ever closer to the S’s.

_Skywalker. Anakin._

But now there was no avoiding it. The previous dancer had left, told to send Anakin back from the practice studios, and soon he would be here.

Ben sat back and took a sip of what passed for tea at Starbucks, his lunch break today too short for a proper meal anywhere, his eyes still on the old, worn door. The tea sat bitter in his mouth, and he swallowed it absent-mindedly.

 _This will be an incredibly awkward conversation, but it has to be had,_ he told himself and the knot in his stomach, returning for the hundredth time that day to the memory of Anakin’s dancing that morning. _He was beautiful._ Ben felt that word on every level as he thought about Anakin: in his mind, his heart, and his body. The long, perfect lines of his movements, the powerful grace he brought to every step, the intimacy and vulnerability he had managed to evoke in sweatpants and a T-shirt in a bare studio.

_Just like those videos of his you’ve seen. The ones that made you put him on your casting list before you ever got here. The ones that didn’t show him close up enough for you to recognize him when he was right in front of you at that damned party._

_When he was straddling you, when his hand was around--._

“Not helping,” he muttered to himself, forcing the thought away but unable to get rid of the embarrassment it left behind.

He rubbed his temples, put on his reading glasses, and stroked the beard he was starting to let grow. It might be good, he had decided, to look a little more distinguished given that he was less than ten years older than most of the dancers here. And this upcoming situation was definitely one where he wanted some distance professionally, if not personally.

 _It doesn’t matter what you want. Get this over with, Ben,_ he told himself firmly as a knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” he called, leaning back in the chair to the squeak of old hinges and then sitting up again, unsure of himself and finally folding his hands on the desk as the door opened. _I can’t look too relaxed. God forbid he think I’m calling him in for ‘favors’._

Anakin came in and shut the door behind him, wearing the same clothes as this morning but a black neck warmer soft and dark around his throat and a thin black hoodie thrown on over his shirt. Sitting down in one of the padded chair monstrosities to the creak of old leather, he was a perfectly silent shadow in black for a moment, his blue eyes never meeting Ben’s as they studied the calendar on the wall behind him, and then they both started speaking in a nervous burst at once.

“Ben, I am so sorry-”

“Anakin, I didn’t know-”

They stopped, eyes meeting in surprise, and after a moment Ben tried again. “Anakin, I…” _God help me, how can his eyes be so blue?_ “I’m talking to all of the dancers, meeting them and just trying to get a sense of who they are and let them start to see who I--.”

“Who we are? I… well, I’m not… I’m not like that,” Anakin interrupted, shaking his head and crossing his arms in a defensive fold. There was no need to specify what ‘that’ meant. Anakin wanted to say that sort of thing never happened, that he never randomly threw himself on strangers he found attractive, especially when he was stressed, but that was a lie and at this moment lying to this talented, sophisticated man would make him feel even lower than he already did. “I swear it won’t happen again.”

“Ah,” Ben nodded slowly, stunned at how much Anakin’s eagerness to give such a promise hurt him even though it was the best possible thing he could have said. _Was I just a pity fuck then? Or someone ugly enough you knew I would be grateful for attention from someone like you?_ He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the flash of humiliation both scenarios brought, forcing the words he’d planned out with clipped efficiency and studiously overlooking what the sounds meant all strung together. “Well, yes. It can’t. ‘That’ can’t happen if I am to be your choreographer. There may be no official, written rule against it but it would not do either of us any good with the company.”

“My choreographer?” Anakin asked, those lovely blue eyes getting just a little wider and his hands dropping back into his lap in confusion.

“If you continue dancing like you did this morning you will be getting a soloist role in all of the productions I lead, Anakin,” Ben replied, distantly proud of how even his voice was despite the turmoil crashing through him. “You are too talented to ignore just because of… one event. So we can have more of… ‘that’... or you can have parts in my productions.”

“Or?” Anakin blinked at him, hands balled together into a knotted fist, anxiety clear on his face rather than the relieved expression Ben had expected.

 _Oh God, he did think I was calling him in here to demand more sex._ Jaw clenching with a sudden wave of nausea, Ben sat back in the chair instinctively to put more space between them. “Anakin, I want to be very clear with you. I… I will never abuse my position with you. I am mortified I didn’t recognize you the moment I saw you at the party, I’ve watched so many of your performances in my research of this company.”

“It was probably the hat,” Anakin said hesitantly, still in apparent shock at how this conversation was going, but the first hint of a smile began on his face and Ben felt his own relief at seeing it and the knot of Anakin’s fingers slowly starting to unwind. “You really mean it? You’re going to cast me?”

“I can’t believe you’re not a principal already,” he offered, tapping at his list of last names before realizing Anakin couldn’t see the notebook open on his desk. “I had you down in my top ten back in November.” Clearing his throat, he sat back up, folding his hands on his desk and praying for Anakin to understand. _I will never hurt you. I swear._ “I would really like to work with you, Anakin.”

“You too,” Anakin answered with another fragile smile. “I looked up some of your productions when they first announced you were coming last year. You’re really good.”

“Thank you,” Ben managed to say without blushing, loathing what he had to say next but knowing it was for the best for both of them that he did. _He’s one of my dancers now. I am older. I am the choreographer. I will support him in the way he should be, with caring and all the wisdom that I have, however little that may actually be._

He looked down at his desk, finding himself still unable to say what came next to Anakin’s face despite his silent vow. “So do we have an agreement then? To keep things strictly professional between us?”

“Yes,” Anakin agreed, and Ben wondered for a moment if there was reluctance in his voice as well before the bright light of Anakin’s excited smile wiped it away. “Thank you so much. This means a lot to me. You won’t regret it.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t worked with me yet,” Ben said with his own hopeful, shy smile.

Anakin laughed, and they stood together and awkwardly fast, but when they shook hands for the second time that day it was with much more warmth than the first, both of them relieved and sure for the moment that this simple arrangement was something they could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! Thank you for your comments and kudos for the first chapter!
> 
> Fireflyfish, I hope you enjoyed the angst. <3 Love you, baby!
> 
> (Note: Remember, folks, I knew absolutely nothing about ballet going into this fic so you've been warned! But I swear I'm going to know French by the time this fic is over... hopefully I didn't put any moves together that are just never, ever done like that.)


	3. Strictly Professional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! If you're curious, here's [a quick little video featuring one of the steps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqwhUWFFvx8) in this chapter... So lovely! <3

The studio echoed with Ben’s crisp voice counting off steps as twelve dancers moved together and then apart in a rigorously slow adagio as he strolled around the front of the room, arms folded and gaze intense as he studied them.

As the music played, all of the instruments falling silent until there was only the cool sparkle of a piano suggesting stars in a night sky, he called out corrections and advice, pointing and gesturing, voice calm and measured as if he were speaking to himself almost as much as to them.

Then the music picked up again in a surge of sound and swept them all away, an unseen storm rolling in and blocking out the stars, Ben’s voice one more steady beat of sound atop it. They winked out in turn, each dancer falling or kneeling until there was only one left, a beautiful and petite brunette fighting her hardest against the elements until the storm passed and she was able to revive her fellow stars with delicate traveling steps and arabesques until the sky was filled with light once again.

When everyone stood back up from their ending poses, Anakin swallowed and waited his turn to see what Ben would say, hand tapping nervously against his hip as the choreographer came down the line with a few words for each dancer.

Padme, the principal playing the star role, winked reassuringly over at him as she came to stand next to him. They’d first met at the School of American Ballet’s summer course years ago and quickly became best friends when Anakin had been accepted back for the winter term. No one was better at reading Anakin’s moods than she was, and she raised an eyebrow at his fingers drumming away against his hip.

He made a face at her. But he stopped.

And then Ben was there in front of Padme, discussing her arm placement in the final steps and asking for her thoughts on how they felt to her. Anakin had a moment to watch him up close without being watched himself, to take in the way his blue eyes seemed almost grey in the afternoon light and the way they crinkled a little when he smiled.

_You are really hot, Ben, but damn am I tired._

He and Ben had kept their pledge of remaining at a distance for almost three weeks now of working together, and he had to admit that as handsome and fascinating as Ben was he was also every bit as hard on his dancers as Mundi. There was never any anger or shouting, just the expectation that if something was not done correctly it would be done, again and again, until it was done the way he wanted.

Anakin was beginning to understand where the enthralling perfection of Ben’s productions came from, and while he was sure he would have privately done nothing but complain if it were anyone else, with Ben such clear precision felt right in a way.

Ben moved on to him, taking a step over to stand in front of him with his hand running over his beard. “Anakin,” he said, looking up at and through him with distant concentration. “Get that second leg up faster on your last pas de chat. I know the combination after that is tough but you’re thinking ahead in your mind and not focusing on where you are at that moment.”

“Ok,” he nodded as Ben turned away. He had wanted so badly to impress him with those final steps today, ones he’d been practicing relentlessly, and realizing this he took a deep breath and tried to relax.

 _Cool. Distant. Professional. Yes. That’s what I am_ , Anakin told himself, standing taller as the dancers settled back into their opening poses, a slow wave of limber bodies extending or curling into position. And for the most part it worked. When there was dance, there was nothing else.

When practice was over was an entirely different matter, and as he sat on the floor drinking water and resting with his back against the wall, he tried not to stare at Ben. The choreographer was chatting with a few of the principals, smiling and nodding as he stood with his arms folded, hands pale against the dark blue of his shirt. _He’s just incredible, I mean, he knows exactly what he wants and--_ Ben casually shifted into a tendu devant as he explained some finer point of the choreography to one of the dancers talking with him and Anakin felt a shy, quiet warmth rise up inside. _And he’s so graceful. Why did he stop dancing?_

A delicate hand drifted down into view, waving a friendly hello. “Earth to Anakin…” Padme grinned, sitting down in front of him on the cool wooden floor and cutting off his view. “You’re staring again,” she whispered, extending her legs out to either side as far as she could stretch them and leaning over, reaching out toward her right foot and then her left.

“Oh, I am?” he asked with a grimace, setting his water bottle aside and opening up his own legs until the soles of her feet rested against his ankles and they held out their hands to take each other by the arms, slowly pulling each other forward in turns and leaning back. “Staring, huh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded as she came back up and pulled him down, the two of them close enough and their conversation quiet enough it was lost in the noise of the corps dancers piling into the room for the next rehearsal. “I mean, not super obviously, but yeah.”

“Thanks. I’ll, uh, try to work on that. Behave myself.” He gave what he hoped came off as a laidback smirk, leaning back to bring her forward, her arms warm and strong under his hands.

“You better. You’re both coming to my apartment for a little dinner party next Monday night when we’re all off. I’m thinking eight people or so in all.”

He froze in place, leaving her tugging on him without any effect. “What? Both of us?”

“Yep. Ben and I were talking last week as we were waiting on the trains, and it turns out an old friend of his is coming into town for awhile,” she smiled with a pleased nod of her head, waving a hello to a few girls across the room.

“Anyway, something went wrong with the rental she had arranged, something about the previous tenant actually has another couple of weeks before his term is up.” Padme patted his shoulder and sat back, lifting her arms in a long, elegant stretch. “So I offered to put her up in the meantime in our extra room. Sabe doesn’t mind. It was actually her idea to have a little welcome dinner for her a couple of days after she arrives. So we’re inviting Ben, a few friends, and you.”

 _Ben and me at the same dinner party. Ok. I can do this. There’ll be other people around. And it would be nice to just see him outside of work… that's not breaking our agreement, right?_ Anakin leaned to the side and stretched, a frown on his face at the knowing grin on hers. “Ok, so Ben’s there because his friend is, but why am I on the list?” he asked.

“Two reasons. For starters, it wouldn’t hurt for you two to be around each other so you can get over The Thing and be in the same room without getting all weird and tense. I don’t know what Ben’s normally like but I know your dancing has been off ever since he got here.” She shrugged at the annoyance that flashed across his face. “I mean, most people wouldn’t notice but I do. And avoiding each other isn’t going to make it go away any faster.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at her sound logic, unable to really argue with it but not wanting to admit that. She pretended not to notice. “And…? What’s Reason Number Two?”

Tugging her hair loose from its bun and retying it as she spoke, she leaned close as she paused for dramatic effect, nonchalantly tucking loose locks into place before continuing. “I think you’ll want to meet Ben’s friend. Ever heard of, oh, I don't know... Satine Kryze?”

Anakin blinked and mouthed the name silently before finding his voice again. “Satine Kryze? The Satine Kryze of the Royal Ballet?”

“She’s a guest principal with ABT this year,” Padme nodded with excitement in her eyes.

Anakin wordlessly reached for his water, drinking a few gulps to give himself time while he tried to process the unfamiliar shape of this new and unexpected fact. _Satine Kryze knows Ben?_ “How do they know each other?”

“They came up together in the corps over there. Well, he quit when he was still in the corps, I think, but you know what I mean. They’re like us. Old friends.”

“Oh.” Anakin slowly wound the cap back on his bottle, thinking back to the videos he’d seen of Kryze. They’d always inspired him, the way she took raw, deep emotions and fit them beautifully into the constructs of classical ballet as if it were the easiest thing in the world. A reviewer had once described Anakin’s dancing as “a mirror reflecting the soul”: he had a worn, dog-eared copy of the article pinned above his mirror and it had lifted his spirits after more than one impossibly long day.

If that were true, then Satine Kryze’s dancing was the soul itself. She was that good.

And she was Ben’s friend.

Both of these facts made him more nervous than the idea of Ben being at the party, something he wouldn’t have thought possible until this moment. He tried to focus once again on what Padme was saying, on the sound of her cheerful voice.

“... and Sabe’s going to make something complicated. Probably five courses if I don’t stop her. But anyway, wear a nice shirt, ok?” she asked. “Something other than a black hoodie.”

“I like black,” he protested, distracted for a moment from the new anxiety tightening his gut.

“And you look good in it. But at least make it a black button-down, ok? Do you own one of those?” she teased, sensing his nervousness and trying to distract him. “Do we need to go shopping?”

“I own a black button-down. I think.”

“They have long sleeves, and buttons… down… the front?” she gestured, running a finger along an imaginary line on her leotard. “What are you so tense for? You love free meals. And Sabe’s cooking. And it’s a chance to meet someone like Kryze.”

“I don’t know. It’s just a surprise is all. I mean, Kryze is famous,” he sighed, wondering how many starry-eyed dancers she had to deal with on a regular basis. _I’d just be another one._

“Yes, she is. And it can’t hurt for an up-and-coming soloist to meet an already-made-it principal, right?”

 _Wait. If she’s Ben’s friend, as close as Padme and I are... did he tell her what happened at Christmas? Like I told Padme?_ Anakin’s sudden dark mood took a turn for the worse as he imagined Satine and Ben exchanging mocking looks behind Anakin’s back at the party. " _Is that him? "- "Oh yes."_

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to push the idea out of his mind. _No. Ben wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t make fun of me to his friends._

 _Would he?_   

Padme leaned forward and rubbed his shoulders, fixing his unsure gaze with her determined one as she tried to help him relax. “It’ll be fine. So you are coming, right?” For all of her delicate mannerisms and petite frame, there was an iron will hiding behind her pretty brown eyes that Anakin often felt was more suited for a boardroom or a court room than a dance studio. “It would be an incredibly dumb move for your career to miss the chance to meet someone like Kryze, Anakin, just because you and Ben got off to an awkward start. Seriously.”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, wondering if he could just lock himself in a studio for the next month or so. “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later Ben hurried along through the blustery January wind, thankful for the awning he saw just ahead, white stenciled letters marking it as the Upper East Side apartment building he was looking for. _Well, now I know how Padme and her girlfriend had an extra room for Satine to use._

He had one hand in the pocket of his coat, holding a bottle of wine tucked solidly in place under his arm, and the other gloved hand held a bouquet of flowers against his chest out of the wind as best he could manage.

 _I can’t wait to see her. It’s been almost a year since we happened to be in the same city at the same time._ Nodding his thanks to the doorman standing just inside the entrance, he switched the flowers to his other hand and pulled his scarf down under his chin as he entered the building in a swirl of warm air and approached the front desk.

The second doorman behind the desk sat with a phone against his ear, grinning up at a man leaning against the paneled wood. Even with his back to Ben and the door, there was no mistaking that lithe, lazy silhouette. “An Anakin Skywalker here to see you, Miss Amidala?” the doorman said. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, he’s in black like usual…” He made a show of standing up and peering over the desk at Anakin’s legs. “No, ma’am, I can’t tell if he dressed up. He’s still got his coat on.”

“You tell her I’m in a tux, Victor,” Anakin laughed, not noticing Ben yet as he walked up, and the sound was just as bright and entrancing to Ben as it had been the first time he’d heard it in the Organas’ apartment. _Padme told me he was coming. I had all weekend to get ready for this_ , Ben chided himself. “Hello, Anakin,” he said calmly and in direct opposition to the sudden racing of his heart as he turned to the doorman. _Why do I suddenly feel so flustered?_ “Ben Kenobi, here to see Miss Amidala as well, please.”

Anakin nodded a hello and fought an immediate and powerful urge to brush himself off and stand up straight as he looked at Ben. Dressed in a stylishly understated coat that draped off him in fitted lines of dark blue and a grey wool scarf tied neatly at his throat, a beautiful bundle of flowers in hand, Ben looked absolutely, effortlessly perfect to Anakin. He even smelled incredible, whatever cologne he was using a subtle, rich scent that somehow reminded Anakin of late afternoon sunlight. _He looks like a damn model. Going on a date._

 _Would he dress like that for a date with me?_ The hint of a blush rising, Anakin was thankful for the brisk winter wind that came howling down through the city blocks and left everyone red-faced when they first came in from outside. “You made it,” he offered, searching for something normal to say.

“I did,” Ben smiled back awkwardly, not having any more luck with his own attempts at conversation as the man at the desk listened and agreed with whatever Padme was saying, the sound of Manhattan traffic as steady and low as a river outside.

“Yes, ma’am.” The doorman hung up and motioned them down a long, carefully maintained hall decorated with paintings and fresh floral arrangements to the elevator at the end.

“So we’re both off tonight,” Anakin offered, hands stuffed in his pockets and glancing over at him.

“Ah, yes,” Ben replied, and they fell into a strained silence as they both realized just how long and empty the hallway was, the only sound their boots on the floor. _I’ve managed to avoid him outside of work for three weeks. Three weeks! I haven’t even thought about him!_ Ben told himself firmly. Very firmly. After all, if Ben ignored those nights he’d explored a few stubborn fantasies about Anakin with the proof of his attraction long and hard in his hand, this statement was technically true. _Anything after the lights go out doesn’t count. Not at all._

Anakin smiled back, looking just as ill at ease. “I hope it’s ok I’m here.”

“Of course it’s ok. I mean, Padme invited you, right? You two are friends?” _As comfortable as Anakin is with the doormen, he must be over here often._ That simple observation annoyed Ben, though he didn’t understand why.

“Yeah, we go back aways. I just meant, uh... I don’t know.” Anakin shrugged, fists balling inside his pockets. _Find something to talk about, stupid! Wait, is that a wine bottle under the flowers? Are you kidding me?_ “Do you... do you think I should have brought something?” he asked, eyeing the wine and bouquet with fresh concern as they came to a stop outside the elevator. “I come over here a lot, but I don’t do a lot of formal stuff.” It slid open, controlled by the doorman at the front desk, and they both stepped inside, Ben letting Anakin go first.

Ben realized with some relief that he wasn’t the only one feeling anxious. _And then there’s the fact Satine will be there, of course. I forget sometimes how famous she is. He must be so nervous._ The rich smell of flowers filled the air between them as the door slid shut to trap them in low yellow light and faint piano music. “Well, it never hurts to bring something for the hostess. I always do.”

Anakin gave him a despairing look, and Ben realized what sort of contrast they would make when the door opened. _Not a good one_. With no hesitation, he held out the bottle of wine, remembering how many of his own embarrassing moments he’d had when he was younger and wanting to spare Anakin at least one. “Here. Take this.”

Anakin took it, looking down at it like he’d never seen a bottle before. “I-- I can’t just take your wine, Ben!” he said, trying to hand it back.

“No, no. It’s no problem.” Ben waved his gloved hand. “Listen. It’s a Merlot from Chateau Trotenoy,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. “French. You picked it up at Sotheby’s a few blocks over...” he said, thinking quickly. “What do you know about wine?”

“You drink it?” Anakin said, feeling like the dumbest man alive as he turned the cool weight of the bottle to read the label.

“Well, yes,” Ben said with no judgment at all in his voice, lost in thought much as he was when he was watching his dancers practice. “Well, ah… let’s see… you asked for a recommendation and this is what they gave you.”

“Ben, seriously. This looks expensive. I can’t take--”

The elevator door opened with a loud grind to the smell of something cooking in butter and Padme’s delighted greeting as she held out her arms in welcome to wrap Anakin in the soft yellow waves of the dress she wore. “Hello! You both made it!” She stood back and beamed at Anakin, taking the bottle from him with clear pride in her friend as he held it out nervously. “And you brought wine! Thank you!”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, swallowing and glancing over at Ben as Padme gushed over the flowers he presented her with. _Thank you._

Ben gave him the smallest of smiles as Anakin was swept up in a hug and passed down the line of affectionate women from Padme to her girlfriend Sabe and another couple of dancers he knew from work, their happy greetings bright in the tiled foyer of the spacious apartment.

“Satine, this is Anakin, the soloist I was telling you about,” Padme said, finally handing off the wine and flowers to Sabe, who winked at Anakin and mouthed, _There is no way you picked this out!_ over Padme’s shoulder as she disappeared back into the kitchen with their gifts.

He pretended not to be able to understand and then completely forgot about her a moment later as he realized who he was being introduced to.

“Anakin,” Satine Kryze, an impossibly graceful woman even by ballet standards, said as she took his hand and pressed hers over it. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She was in a snug indigo dress that made the blue of her eyes even brighter, her blond hair pulled up into an artfully loose bun decorated with a comb edged in small white and gold lilies.

“You, too,” he said, smiling back, feeling a little dazed.

And then she was turning away toward Ben, beaming and holding her arms out. “There you are!”

“Satine,” Ben said, hugging her close with his gloves still bunched in one hand. “It’s so good to see you!”

A sudden rush of irrational jealousy dug past Anakin’s awe at meeting Satine as he listened to the joy in Ben’s voice while he and Anakin took off their coats and hung them up by the door, but Anakin put it aside with a determined effort. _He’s not yours, remember? Just be happy that he’s happy._

And unlike so many other times in his life when he had felt petty and possessive of what his heart said was his, Anakin was surprised to find that he could just be happy for Ben, at least for a little while. Anakin was with his friends in a warm apartment on a cold night with delicious scents in the air and it was honestly hard to argue with life at that moment.

_If I just get to watch him laugh and smile all night, I think that’d be fine._

Padme patted him on the back as she walked by, resting her head against his arm and giving him a little hug before she continued on ahead to help Sabe pour drinks for everyone. “You look better already, Ani.”

 

* * *

 

Padme had always had a knack for reading people, for intuitively understanding what would make a situation better and what would make it worse, and she loved hosting parties because these things came naturally to her. Getting a shy person to talk, getting strangers laughing and sharing stories as if they’d known each other for years: she enjoyed making people feel at home in her home, and this party had been another glowing example of that as all of the guests slowly relaxed and the party rolled along to laughter and stories.

Until dinner was almost over, anyway. One of the ballerinas she’d invited, feeling a little too relaxed, boldly asked Ben why he quit dancing and went into choreography. “I mean, I didn’t know you were in the Royal Ballet! Why would you leave that?”

Only Padme seemed to notice the slight shift in his posture as he sat up a little straighter. This was a question he’d answered more than once, that minute change told her, and he hated, truly hated, talking about it. “Ah, well, I got injured. Never really recovered.”

“Oh!” the girl said, and opened her mouth to ask something else, but Satine was suddenly pointing to her glass and lifting the latest wine bottle they’d opened, Anakin’s gift long gone by now.

“More?” she smiled.

“Oh yes, thank you.”

Padme jumped in, wondering if Satine had interrupted on purpose, and quickly steered the conversation away to something they could all groan about together, the snowstorm scheduled to roll in later that week. _Yes, you two definitely must be close if you’re that protective of him_ , Padme thought with a new fondness for the famous dancer: it reminded her of how she was with Anakin.

 

* * *

 

When the party wound down, late but not too late given all of their schedules the following day, Ben and Anakin found themselves either herded out by Padme or coincidentally leaving at exactly the same time. Anakin doubted it was the latter, but he didn’t really care. He was relaxed, pleasantly tipsy, and happier than he’d been in a good long while. Satine had liked him, Ben had sat next to him, and Sabe’s cooking had not disappointed.

“Which way are you headed?” Ben asked him as they buttoned their coats up and came back down the building’s entry hall and past the friendly doormen, the walk much shorter now that the worst of the awkward tension between them seemed to be gone.

“I’m catching the 4 at 86th.”

“I’m going that way too.”

They fell into step comfortably and quietly next to each other as they left, huddling down against the wind, and Anakin glanced over at Ben, a sudden curiosity overcoming him as he remembered a particularly affectionate smile Ben had given Satine during one of her stories about their younger days. _Don’t ask. Don’t ask. It’s none of your business._ “So, ah, are you two dating?” _Dammit._

Ben, full of good food and good wine, only gave a chuckle, his hair glowing gold in the highlights as they passed under a street lamp. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Well, you two are close. I mean, really close.”

“No more than you and Padme,” he countered.

“Are we that close?”

“Anakin, she tied your scarf before we left.”

“She did?” He thought about it as they paused at an empty intersection before striding on across it to the other side. “Oh, yeah, I guess she did.”

“And are you and Padme dating?” Ben asked patiently, attempting to make his point.

“Would you be jealous if we were?” Anakin shot back with a playful grin and then froze, looking away from Ben in a panic and catching his own cringing face in the reflection of a store window. _Wait. What did I just say?_

Ben pondered this for another half-block, his own smile slow and playful as he contemplated the idea. “I might be. But you two wouldn’t last long.”

 _Oh. OH._ Anakin tried to remain calm and collected at Ben’s response, at the simple phrase ‘might be’. “How come we wouldn’t last long?”

“I’m reasonably confident Sabe would kill you.”

“Oh yeah.” _Good point._ “True.”

“So let me ask you, Anakin, since you brought it up first…” _Don’t flirt with him, Ben. This is a bad idea!_ But it felt right, so right to be doing exactly that with Anakin in the blissfully crisp cold, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him as they teased each other like they’d been friends for years. _Padme is either a miracle worker or Satan. Not sure which._ “Would you be jealous if Satine and I were dating?”

Anakin shrugged and looked down at the ground. “Maybe.”

“The truth is we fooled around once, a long time ago, when I was still figuring things out.” He looked over at Anakin, heart starting to pound in his chest for all the lightness of his tone as he listened to himself gather up kindling, pile it all around the solemn agreement they’d made to keep at a distance, and toss a match into it. “Right now you and her are technically even on that count. If, well, if you and I fooled around again you’d be ahead, you see.” _Thank God it’s dark and he can’t see how much I’m blushing. I feel like my face is on fire_ , he realized with a strange, lovely giddiness that took him back to being a teenager again.

Taking a few more steps down the deserted street, the signs for the station rising up ahead, it took Ben a moment to realize Anakin had stopped walking. He looked back at him, at his surprised expression, and started to wonder if he’d gone too far, if he’d embarrassed Anakin by bringing up the Christmas party again, when Anakin caught up to him in a couple of long strides.

He slid his arms around Ben’s neck and kissed him, wordless and passionate, his gloved fingers curling into Ben’s hair and pulling the two of them closer together until there was only Anakin’s mouth hot and hard and insistent against his and the cold bar of the sidewalk railing Anakin had pushed him up against.

There was nothing but that kiss for so long they forgot where they were, who they were, only drawing apart when neither could breathe any longer.

They stood panting, their breaths mingling in cool white clouds and their foreheads touching as the wind blew around them, tugging on their coats and sending Ben’s hair into Anakin’s face. Anakin brushed it back with a gentle smile, the leather of his glove cool on Ben’s temple as he did.

“Anakin…” Ben finally murmured with such reluctance it was a wonder the words came out at all, not moving away and not wanting to. “Remember... remember what we agreed. Strictly professional, right? I’m sorry for… for saying what I did just now. That wasn’t fair of me to tease you like that. I… I’m sorry.”

But he wasn’t. Not really. _It doesn’t matter what you want_ , Ben tried to tell himself as he often had about a great many things, but that stern voice seemed so powerless before the beautiful heat and deep, undeniable connection he felt with Anakin. It was like trying to stop the sun from rising, trying to deny there was a morning coming after a long, black night.

Flushed and ecstatic, Anakin leaned back just enough to speak, brushing another windblown lock out of Ben’s face and attempting a deadpan tone. “No, what wasn’t fair is that I wasn’t ahead of Satine Kryze in at least something.”

“Is that so?” he sighed, unable to help smiling. _He’s so handsome when he’s happy. It’s like he’s made of light._

“Yes. Did you see her? Is she actually human, Ben?” Anakin joked, loving how warm and solid Ben felt in his arms as the cold breeze blew past and rustled the leaves on the neatly spaced trees lining the street.

“Yes. I just spent a whole party with her.”

“Ok, so you understand,” Anakin continued, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing in pure, giddy joy. “It’s a good thing we did this. Professionally, I mean. Otherwise I… I might sink into an endless depression about not being a Nordic dancing goddess and... forget how to dance and… and make your production look bad.”

Ben laughed and shook his head even as he put his hands on Anakin’s chest and gently pushed him back, drunk far more on his touch than anything he’d had at Padme’s that evening. “Well, we can’t have that, I suppose. Do you feel reassured?”

“Yes. In a strictly professional sense. Professionally strict. Sense. Yes.” Anakin licked his lips, clearly thinking about pushing his luck with another kiss, but then stepped back.

Ben was almost sad to feel him slip out of his arms even as he told himself it was for the best. “Glad to help, Anakin.”  

“Good night, Ben. See you tomorrow!” he grinned, darting off toward the entrance to the subway.

Ben watched him disappear down the steps to the station below and tucked his hands in his coat, his lips still warm from their kiss. “Good night, Anakin,” he murmured to himself, pleasantly dazed and suddenly aware of how bitterly cold the night was without Anakin against him.

_Just once. It was only once. There’s no harm in once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you for your comments and kudos and support so far! I'm stunned at how much people like this AU. <3 
> 
> And LOOK! LOOK! FAN ART! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Jerseytigermoth and misslearn over on Tumblr drew Dancer!Anakin! Thank y'all so much! I love them and it blows my mind people are doing fan art of my fic. <3 <3 <3
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> [jerseytigermoth's piece](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/post/155863633382/this-time-i-must-show-my-appreciation-to-the)
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> [misslearn's piece](http://misslearn.tumblr.com/post/156353526406/art-time-tonight-its-balletdanceranakin-from)
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> 
> As far as updates go, I want to say two weeks or so as usual for the next one. So ideally February 10th but at least somewhere around that time. Thanks for reading and see you then!


	4. Together

A few weeks later Anakin found himself back at Padme’s again, trading jokes with the doormen as he went up to her apartment, hands stuffed in his coat pockets against the winter cold and his practice duffel tossed over his back. When the elevator ground to a halt and rolled open, he peeked out into the empty foyer of the sprawling apartment, the scent of flowers from a nearby table light and crisp. “Sabe? Reporting in for help with whatever this is you need me for?”

“In the living room!” she called, and he stepped out and gently slid the bag down to the floor by one of the benches that lined the little marble-tiled hall, careful of the glass bottle inside, before continuing on.

“What, no lines of rose petals back to the bedroom?” he called back with a grin as he came down and poked his head around the corner.

“Like I would do anything so pedestrian. And Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, remember?” She smiled up at him, sitting on the floor next to what seemed like a haystack of soft pink ribbon. “Have a seat, pretty boy. It’s ribbon tying time.” She was as beautiful as her girlfriend, her angles just a little sharper: today she was in sweatpants and a T-shirt, her long, blonde hair tossed up in a ponytail with a bandanna tied around her head. Unlike her girlfriend, however, she had no problem ordering Anakin about. At times when Padme tried to politely suggest or cajole Sabe would be there with an eyeroll and a blunt yet insightful opinion.

Anakin liked her.

He dutifully sat down next to Sabe on the Persian rug that filled the middle of the room, crossing his long legs and watching her tie a perfect bow out of a single line of pink. “What’s that for?”

“I saw this on Pinterest: you make a bow like this and then you glue it to a longer ribbon that hangs from the ceiling. So you have this really pretty fall of ribbons hanging all around the bedroom at different heights.”

“How many are we making?”

“I think 200 would fill out our bedroom nicely.”

“Well, this has been great! Nice to see you, Sabe, but I’m going to have to ‘bow’ out before I miss my train.” Anakin slapped his thighs and made a theatrical show of standing back up, but she reached out and pulled him back down.

“Nope. Too late! You’re here. And for a pun that bad? You’re here ‘till we’re done.”

“I’m too young to tie!” He ignored her groan, grinning with pride at his own joke. “Besides, I can’t tie pretty bows like that.”

“You’re a ballet dancer. How can you not know how to tie a nice bow?”

“It’s not like men wear pointe shoes, Sabe.”

She arched an eyebrow, her hair golden in the late morning light streaming in through the windows that lined one wall. They showed the usual Manhattan skyline, jumbles of buildings and rows of windows, rooftop gardens and wisps of clouds. “And you’ve never encountered a bow in the wild during your entire dancing career?”

“No,” he lied as solemnly as he could, raising an eyebrow back.

“Ok, then you’re on glue duty,” she answered cheerfully, pointing to a glue gun warming up on the coffee table. “I’ll make the bows and you glue them to the longer ribbons. Besides, you can’t leave. I have to hear about you and Ben.”

“There is no escaping you, is there?”

“Nope. Now talk about Ben,” she smiled, getting another length of ribbon to tie.

Anakin sighed, the sound one of both exasperation and happiness. “Nothing’s happened since that night, since the kiss. We’re being professional. And it’s ok that nothing’s happened.”

“Nothing? Seriously? Padme was sure you two had done more than that the night of the party.”

“Nah, not… well, not yet, I guess?” He shrugged, pressing the bow she handed him into the spot of glue he’d made on a ribbon and setting it aside on the newspaper she’d laid out over the red and black swirls of the rug. “Why?’

“She says your dancing’s better lately. More relaxed, like it usually is.”

“It does feel more natural lately. Now I don’t feel, well, I don’t feel like I have to impress him so much like I did before I knew him better. Now I just want to make him smile.”

“Uh huh. And a few other things,” she teased, handing him the next ribbon as they fell into a simple rhythm of movement, neither speaking for a long while and enjoying the comfortable silence for awhile as they worked.

“You know,” she said as she helped Anakin reload the glue gun fifty bows later, “You have it bad, if you’re willing to just sit there and get a kiss every now and then. You’ve never had a problem going after what you want before.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and shook his hand as a wisp of hot glue fell across his thumb, pulling it off with a frown. “Well, you know, that’s what almost got me into trouble in the first place. I was just really, really lucky he decided to give me a chance in his productions after… that.”

“Is you two dating really against the rules or something? I thought ballet companies were pretty ok with that. I mean, Padme told me there’s lots of it going on in the company. You date the people you see all day, the ones that understand having weird schedules, and all that. In theater it’s almost weird if the director _isn’t_ dating one of us.”

Taking another ribbon, Anakin tied it a little tighter before gluing it down. “Yeah, but those relationships are all dancers, people at the same level… Ben recommends dancers for roles to the Artistic Director for the productions he choreographs. So if people think he’s sleeping with someone and that someone gets a role it doesn’t look good.” Anakin looked down at his hands and the pale silk in them. “And if it gets really obvious or it makes problems we could both get in trouble for it. Him more than me.”

“Well, if you two need a reason to hang out I’m sure Padme could throw another party or six,” Sabe suggested. “You know she loves any excuse for one. And I would love to watch you two moon all over each other all evening again.”

Anakin poked her in the ribs, but a smile crept across his face as he hunched over his work, voice suddenly low as if he was worried someone other than her might hear. “I… I like him. A lot.”

“He likes you, too.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No one looks like that at someone they don’t care for.” They sat quietly on the floor, working through the remainder of the ribbons and steadily adding to the new haystack of pink as the other one dwindled down to nothing. “So any desperate love letters to Ben planned for Valentine’s Day?”

“No. I thought I’d go the classic route. You know, stand outside his apartment with a boom box,” Anakin deadpanned, standing up and stretching as he handed the last one back to her.

“Better hope he doesn’t live on the tenth floor or something,” she said, lifting the mass of finished ribbons into a cardboard box that would be hidden away in a closet until the next day. “You might be there a while.”

“I’ll just turn it up.”

“And go deaf. How will you hear his declaration of love for you when he finally comes outside?”

Anakin laughed, watching her hide the box under a few old coats in the closet. “You’re such a cynic.”

“I love a good tragedy.”

“Anything else I can help you with before I get out of here?”

“Don’t tell her I’m planning anything, ok?”

“I won’t. I swear,” he solemnly promised as she turned back to him. “Say hi to her for me.”

“Will do, pretty boy! Are you coming with us for dinner tonight? I’ll pay since you helped out in the ribbon mines.” She hugged him and patted him on the back, tiny against his tall frame.

“Thanks. Money’s a little tight this month,” he admitted, hugging her back.

“You got it! I’ll text you later,” she said as she pressed the elevator button and he got ready to go, lifting his bag back over his shoulder and tugging his gloves on. “Where you off to?”

“The center. See you later!” He stepped into the open elevator with a theatrical bow-- “Cupid out.”-- and Sabe’s amused chuckle following him out.

 

* * *

 

Things were going according to plan: it was mid-afternoon and he knew any particularly crazy dancers that had come in on one of the rare three days straight the center was closed would have probably gone home by now. _Including me, usually_ , he thought, but the insomnia that had been bothering him had gotten a little better since he’d met Ben and he hadn’t come in for as many early morning practices.

Slinking in through one of the side doors, feeling strange coming to work with no intent of dancing at all, he stole down the silent, half-lit hallways toward Ben’s office, one of several small rooms tucked away off from the practice rooms. As he hurried past the doors to the studios, he heard someone dancing in one at the same time he noticed its door was propped open, the hesitant steps suggesting someone learning a new part and the music too faint to make out.

Not stopping for fear of being seen, Anakin turned another set of corners and saw that Ben’s office door was open and the light was on, but there was no sound at all to suggest anyone was inside. _Probably the cleaners left it open._ _Good, that makes this a lot easier._

Peering inside, just in case, and finding no one there, he quickly unzipped his bag and pulled out the same wine Ben had let him have at the party. _$96… almost a whole Arduino robot kit_ , he thought with a pang of regret, New York rent not leaving much behind in his paychecks for anything else, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

_He’ll know who it’s from._

Leaning over to put it on the floor behind Ben’s desk, out of sight from the door, Anakin paused halfway bent over when he realized something was already back there on the ugly, carpeted floor. _A workout bag._ There was nothing else it could be: it was a simple duffel like his, unzipped and a neatly folded shirt sitting atop other clothes inside from what he could see.

 _Wait. Is Ben… is Ben dancing in one of the rooms?_ Stunned, Anakin stood up and turned to walk out to go see before he realized the bottle was still in his hand.

Reaching back over the desk to tuck the wine down in a muffled slosh atop the bag, he hurried back out the way he came, his gaze falling on the only door standing propped open down that first hall of practice studios. _I thought he couldn’t dance. He said at the party he got injured, didn’t he? And that’s why he quit?_

The languid sound of steps could be heard, and Anakin felt the emptiness of the building, the cool air, the sudden thudding of his heart. _What if it’s not him?_

_It’s him. It’s got to be him. No one else is here. He’s probably planning the next production or something. Not actually dancing._

But the steps were growing bolder now, matching the music he heard now that he was paying attention. It was a soft, sad melody, and it drew him toward the door in slow motion.

_Just one peek. Just one look, and then I’ll go._

He slid his hand up along the smooth wood of the door frame and leaned around it, intending to say hello as a warning he was there, but the word died on his lips.

Ben was dancing across the floor in the short, precise jumps of brisé volé, the lines of his toned body clear in the grey dancer’s tights and white shirt he wore. They clung to him as he spun in a precise whirl of a pirouette en dedans and brought an arm up in a sublime curve toward the ceiling. His eyes were closed, head rolling to the side and shoulders following as he came back down into a plié. A lock of hair fell into his face, his body still, and then he was moving again in a series of traveling steps back across the room.

He moved with such confidence Anakin was speechless: Ben’s dancing was not the fiery play of instinct and raw emotion Anakin’s was. It was subtle and powerful, strength that did not need acclaim or attention to justify itself. Every step, every pose, was placed with surety and intent as if the music followed his steps, not the other way around, as Ben floated across the floor.

It was the opposite of Anakin’s style and he was entranced by it. _He’s amazing..._

In the back of his mind, the part of him that like most professional dancers was constantly assessing those around him, Anakin knew Ben was not at Anakin’s technical level: his pirouette wobbled a little and his lines needed a bit of work, but that competitive part of Anakin also had to admit the potential was there in Ben. _He easily could have been a soloist. Maybe even a principal one day._

_Why did you quit?_

Wanting to stay, to watch Ben for as long as he danced, Anakin bit his lip and stuffed his hands in his pockets, not moving from where he stood even though his mind shouted at him to leave. _I should go. It isn’t right for me to see this._

A single chime sounded, loud over the low music, and Anakin stared in horror as Ben landed from another pirouette to whirl around, grey-blue eyes darting straight to him and his arms and legs collapsing from their crisp angles into a surprised step back.

“Anakin?”

The chime sounded again: another text message on Anakin’s phone. He swallowed, reaching into his pocket to thumb the sound button to off, and tried to smile. “Hi?”

Chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Ben stared back, apparently just as much at a loss for words at Anakin and a blush rising on his face. Anakin’s phone now buzzed at him: a third text message. And then a fourth.

They looked at each other across the room, and Anakin jerked his thumb over his shoulder, eventually finding his voice. “I, uh, was bringing you your wine. The bottle I borrowed? Well, not that bottle, I mean, but a replacement. It’s in your office.” _Just stop talking, Anakin. You sound like an idiot and you’re making it worse!_

Ben tilted his head, puzzled, running a hand through his hair as his breathing settled, and then realized what Anakin was talking about. “Oh. Anakin, you didn’t have to do that.” He folded his arms, uncharacteristically shy, and Anakin imagined for a moment a younger, beardless Ben doing exactly that in a dance class. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving me at the party,” he said, worried he’d upset him. “I should go, shouldn’t I?”

“Anakin, is there something you want to ask me?” Ben gave a heavy, embarrassed sigh and ran both of his hands through his hair this time, tensing for the inevitable question about his inexplicable ability to dance with a career-ending injury. “Let’s just get it over with, shall we? Go on.”

Anakin saw the discomfort in the sharp line of his shoulders and the wariness in his eyes, and the thought of causing Ben pain in any way instantly killed his curiosity. _Finding out whatever is going on here isn’t worth hurting him._ “Yeah. I do want to ask you something.”

Standing taller, Ben braced himself, voice clipped and icy. “Yes?”

“A white shirt? I mean, really?”

Ben blinked at him, tilting his head in that same way he did when he was running through steps in his mind during rehearsals, and Anakin smiled at him with as much playfulness as he could manage given the odd situation. “When you get sweaty, white is the worst color to wear, you know.”

The look Ben gave him was one of pure, undiluted gratitude, and the choreographer, after a moment, shook his head and tugged on the offending clothing. “I didn’t have anything else clean today.” The relief in his voice was clear, and Anakin felt the mood in the room lift despite the sad music continuing to play behind them. “I suppose I should wear black all the time like you do?”

“Well, we can’t have you copying me.” His phone buzzed again, and Anakin yanked it out and fully muted it without looking at the screen before shoving it back in his pocket. _Dammit, Sabe, not right now!_ Giving Ben his friendliest smile, he shrugged. “Unless you want to.”

“The wearing all black or the incredible dancing? I’m only capable of one of those, I must confess.”

“What, you’re allergic to black?”

Ben looked off to the side, face flushing again, and Anakin held his hands out in an encouraging gesture. “You’re good, Ben.”

“You’re too kind.”

“No, I’m definitely not that. Ask Padme. I give her crap all the time.” He thought about it. “Was that half of a pas de deux you were doing?”

“One I’m thinking about trying to write. I don’t know if it will go anywhere,” Ben admitted.

“Need a girl to practice with?”

“Do you have one on hand?” he said back, that same banter they’d fallen into so naturally at the party beginning to return to them.

“No, but, well...” _Do it, do it, do it!_ “I have my practice clothes in here. They were just for padding the wine. I mean, I wasn’t going to dance today. But if you needed help, I could at least be a warm body?”

The faintest of smiles crossing his face, Ben stroked his beard and let his hand fall back down into his arms folded across his chest. “Well, there go any lifts I had planned.”

“Are you calling me fat?” he asked in mock offense.

“No, just undeniably tall and broad and male.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not here.”

Ben snickered and waved his hand, unable to believe this was happening. _He just doesn’t give up. And I don’t think I want him to._ “Go get changed. I’ll be here.”

When Anakin came back in his usual snug black ensemble Ben was making notes over by the piano and speaker system, scribbling away in a dog-eared notebook. “So here’s what I was thinking…” Soon Anakin found himself dancing, lost in steps, moving alone at first through the initial combination with Ben’s calm voice guiding him along.

And then, once he felt comfortable, Ben was dancing with him, hand falling lightly on Anakin’s shoulder or sliding down his chest as he moved in sync with him. They crossed the room back and forth a dozen times, a ghost in grey leading a shadow through an endless, beautiful night as the music played on behind them.

Anakin had danced with attractive men and women all his life, but having Ben this close sent electricity through him, bright and distracting. Every touch left heat on his skin, every little detail Anakin hadn’t noticed until now fascinated him so much he almost missed his steps. _His golden eyelashes, the line of his thighs..._

Ben wasn’t having any easier of a time, it was clear. He would move with Anakin and then suddenly fall away, the long, elegant lines of their bodies slipping away from each other as he forgot what step came next. “Sorry,” he laughed after a few more times, holding his hands out in defeat as he crossed over to turn the music off. “I’m just not as good as you are.”

“You are. It’s me,” Anakin offered, reaching out to take Ben’s pale hand with his own tanned one when he came back and pleased to see Ben didn’t pull it away. “I make a terrible woman.”

“But you make a perfect man,” Ben murmured as Anakin pulled him closer.

It was safe to be themselves here, in this empty room with no one around. Anakin was home in a studio, surrounded by mirrors and barres with cool wood under his feet, and he had the feeling Ben might feel the same way. He drew Ben in with a smile until their chests were together, their shared warmth intoxicating and their hearts still thudding from dancing.

“You know we shouldn’t,” Ben said, but his hand was already sliding up Anakin’s shirt to cup his cheek, thumb tracing over his lip.

Anakin closed his eyes, basking in the warm, affectionate gesture, something his usual hook-ups didn’t do a lot of. It felt almost reverent, as if he were someone worth loving rather than just having fun with. “If you don’t want to, I can leave,” he made himself say, hating every word but scared of pushing Ben too far too fast.

“No, don’t.” He felt Ben’s thumb slide away and then his mouth was on Anakin’s in a deep, hungry kiss. Stunned at the need in the roughness of it, he opened his eyes and then closed them again with a muffled, happy gasp, his arms sliding around Ben.

In a leisurely, lucious set of steps taken in unison, Ben pushed him back against the wall, Anakin trusting him to guide them to the cold, slick surface of the mirrored wall behind them. “Ben,” he begged in a whispered plea as he pressed against him, arching his back to press his chest, his hips against him.

Their thin clothes were the barest trace of softness over the taut muscles and lithe planes of their bodies as they ground together, lost in the sweetness and the heat of each other’s mouths and hands. Ben could kiss Anakin forever, he thought, could spend an eternity with his fingers tangled in the smooth locks of his hair and along the hard lines of his body.

But Anakin had other ideas, it seemed, and soon he’d turned them in place, putting Ben’s back against the wall. “I can think of something else we shouldn’t do,” he grinned with a knowing smile, arousal clear in the husky tone of his voice.

“Only one?” Ben managed, breathless, as Anakin started to lower himself.

“For now.” And then Anakin was on his knees in front of him, looking up at him, and Ben felt his heart stop at the sight of him like this.

 _Oh. Oh God. Here?_ He glanced at the door and back at Anakin, half frightened and half desperate for him to keep going, his body wonderfully, achingly tense. “Anakin, you don’t have to…”

“I want to.” He stood up and walked over, kicking the prop out of the door and flicking the lights off. The room fell into darkness as the door creaked to a close, the only light left coming in through the narrow window set in it to sprawl in a rectangular glow across the paneled floor. The two men were both shadows now, barely visible to each other and not clear enough anyone passing by outside would notice.

In the shaded gloom that filled the studio, Ben swallowed as Anakin walked back over to him and sank to his knees with such elegance Ben had to close his eyes. _I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t._

 _But God I want to._ He reached down, fingers dragging through Anakin’s hair as Anakin began to kiss down his stomach, each adoring one the faintest pressure through his shirt. “How are you so goddamn perfect?” he wondered in a pleasant mutter of disbelief.

Anakin chuckled, his breath warm through Ben’s tights, and slid his hands up his thighs to rest on the stiff bulge there. He loved how Ben bit off a moan as he gave a teasing squeeze and then hooked his fingers into the waistband of Ben’s tights and the wide elastic of the dance belt worn underneath, pulling them both down his hips in a single, careful tug.

The cold air of the room across his skin was soon replaced by the heat of Anakin’s eager, seeking mouth leaving kisses along the taut muscles that traced down his hips, taunting him by never quite drifting to the middle, to the hard center of him. Ben dragged his fingers along the mirror he was standing against, clutching at nothing but unable to help himself, and Anakin smiled as Ben’s hips pushed up into his face. He wrapped a hand around what was so desperately presented to him as he began to lick and suck at a maddeningly lazy, luxurious pace.

This was something he was good at, something he’d had ample practice at with his long string of mostly anonymous lovers, but with Ben it felt different. He wanted to please him, but he wanted more than that. He wanted Ben to need him, to want him as much as Anakin wanted Ben. That was a new feeling, and it sent a tremor through his confidence as he slid his free hand up to clutch at Ben’s hip, pressing him firmly back against the mirror as he pushed more of him into his mouth. _Don’t screw this up!_

From the sharp hisses of Ben’s breathing above him in the dark, harsh gasps that echoed Anakin’s mouth sliding along the length of him, Ben seemed to be enjoying himself, and Anakin closed his eyes, reassured for now, and gave in to the desire burning through him to please Ben, to make Ben think of him and only him.

Ben let out a choked moan as Anakin worked all of him into his mouth, his twitching hand coming to rest in Anakin’s hair and guiding him up and down. The blackness all around them brought a heightened clarity, the pleasure so intense it felt like fire and ice dancing through Ben’s body at the same time.

He felt the hot tightness of Anakin’s mouth around him, smelled the acrid hint of the cleaner the custodians used on the mirror behind him, heard himself quietly begging and cursing, his accent coming out stronger than it had in a long while of constantly living abroad as his hips rocked as slowly as he could manage against Anakin’s lovely face.

Anakin stayed where he was, the floor hard and unforgiving against his knees but too lost in the increasingly rough rhythm of Ben’s need to care. When a deep shudder finally passed through the man standing over him and bitterness flooded his mouth Anakin swallowed and gave a final, affectionate sucking pull before leaning back, chest rising and falling as he gasped for air.

Ben’s legs trembled once more as he did, and then Anakin was standing again, smiling in the dark as he pulled Ben’s clothes back into place.

“Ah, fuck, you’re good at that,” Ben managed with a weary, blissful sigh, sliding his arms around Anakin’s neck. “Fuck me, Anakin.”

“I could, you know,” he laughed, swallowing again as he steadied his breathing, satisfied at the dazed look on Ben’s shadowed face and almost giddy with his own pure, needy arousal.

Ben laughed. “Oh, is that what we’re doing now? We’d have to take turns at that. I’m not usually on the bottom.”

“Oh, really? Do tell,” Anakin grinned, and then their corner of the room lit up as another text came through on his phone, which he’d left sitting on top of his practice bag. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, come on!”

“Expecting someone?” Ben trailed off as Anakin strode over to snatch the phone up and then froze where he was, staring at the little screen. “Anakin? What is it?”

Anakin said nothing, fingers tight around the phone, and Ben saw his silhouette, black against the window in the door on the other side of the room, start to shake. Hurrying over to him, he ran a hand along his back to soothe him and looked over Anakin’s shoulder. “What is…”

“I… I have a stalker,” Anakin stuttered in horror, unable to look away from the line of texts. “I thought it was just weird packages and stuff, but he… he’s found out my phone number somehow. And… and…”

Ben took the phone out of Anakin’s hand, scrolling through the line of texts from an anonymous number with a dull sense of disbelief. The first was a photo of the front of an apartment building, which Anakin numbly pointed out was his before turning away as he hugged himself, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of the mirrored wall and trying not to hyperventilate.

The second and third were also photos: graphic shots of a stranger, an aroused man, taken from the shoulders down in what was clearly the stalker’s bathroom mirror.

The last one was simple text, the three lines sitting neatly inside the usual little green message balloon.

_see you tomorrow for valentines day anakin_

_dont worry_

_ill be nice and gentle with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the update for this time around... what did you think?
> 
> (Feel free to smack me around here or on Tumblr (writegowrite) for that ending... I know I deserve it.)
> 
> The next chapter will go up in two weeks, give or take a couple of days. Thanks as always for reading and for your support! <3


	5. Valentine's Day

Anakin leaned his head against the cold glass of the mirror in the darkened practice room, wavy locks falling into his face as he struggled to control his breathing, all of his playful desire for Ben scoured away and replaced with bleak terror. _He knows where I live! That was my apartment. The front of my apartment building. Oh God and those pictures..._

He hugged himself tighter, fingers clenching at his side through his thin shirt: nowhere was safe. Not the studio, not his home. The stalker had neatly reached out and pulled those out from under him, and Anakin’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he wondered how long he’d known where he lived. “No, no, no…” he muttered, breath fogging the mirror and his own black shape reflected in it.

“Anakin, I am so sorry,” Ben murmured from behind him, the light of Anakin’s phone disappearing as he clicked the screen off and put it face down atop Anakin’s bag, and then his arms were around Anakin, warm and strong. His own hazy afterglow was gone as well, a stunned anger burying it in a landslide of questions he wanted to ask but forced down for the moment. _When did this start? How long has it been going on? Have you told anyone? What else has he sent you?_

Leaning into him, resting his cheek against the back of Anakin’s neck as he held Anakin tight, Ben let out a long, slow breath and whispered into his hair, the light scent of Anakin’s shampoo subtle and clean in the dark. “It’s all right. It will be all right.”

“He knows where I live,” Anakin said, turning in his arms, utterly lost as he looked into the shadows of Ben’s face. “What am I going to do? He said he’s going to be there tomorrow and... and...”

“He won’t do anything to you,” Ben said, sliding his hands up and down Anakin’s back in slow, soothing strokes as Anakin put his arms in a limp circle around his waist. For all of the calmness of his voice, there was a current of fury flowing just beneath it, a new tide of emotion Ben struggled to keep out of his voice so as not to frighten Anakin further. “I promise. We’ll handle this. I will handle this.”

“What, by calling the police? Ben, they won’t be able to do anything. If they even want to do anything.” Anakin stared at him hopelessly, his fingers tightening against Ben’s back. “I don’t even know who he is.”

“I know. But we know where he will be tomorrow.” He began stroking Anakin’s hair out of his face, the gesture as gentle as his voice was hard. “Your apartment. And so that’s where I’ll be.”

“Ben…”

“Is this your first stalker?”

Anakin blinked at the question. “My first?”

Tucking a lock of hair behind Anakin’s ear, Ben nodded. “Satine would get obsessed fans about once or twice a year when she was younger. I helped her, well, I helped her deal with them,” he shrugged without offering any more details. “I’ll deal with this one, too.”

Sliding out of Ben’s grasp, unwilling to think this all the way through, Anakin walked back over and flicked the lights on with a cold snap of the switch. In the flood of bright light his eyes were wide and afraid, making him seem years younger. “Ben, listen, I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me. I’ll… I’ll just take my cat and go stay over at Padme’s tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll let me stay.”

Ben watched him pace back and forth with a strange, unreadable expression on his face and lithe arms crossed. “That’s a good idea, Anakin, as long as you leave your keys with me.”

“Ben, you can’t confront him. That’s insane. And, and... adults get arrested when they beat each other up. This isn’t like when you and Satine were younger!”

“Anakin, if you run away tomorrow, it will just encourage him and he may not tip us off so obviously next time. Let me handle this.”

Anakin held his arms out in a bewildered sweep, the motion sharp with frustration. “Ben… what, I’m just supposed to leave you alone to confront him? He could be dangerous!”

Ben gave him a crooked smile, eyes glinting, and Anakin could suddenly imagine him at 18, or even 15, fists curled and hair in his pale face. “When I was growing up a group of neighborhood boys decided ballet was... an unacceptable pursuit for a boy. For around three or four years, I’d end up brawling with at least one or two of them at least once a week. I know you may not believe me, but I know my way around in a fight.”

The simple, matter-of-fact way Ben said this would have fascinated Anakin at any other time but now all he could imagine was all of the ways such a confrontation would go wrong. “You can’t fight him, Ben.”

“And I promise I won’t start a fight with him if I can help it, Anakin. He’s obviously arrogant. I mean, for God’s sake, he told you when he was coming to your apartment.” Ben waved in the direction of Anakin’s bag and the phone that had mercifully remained silent without any further notification pings. “The arrogant ones are the easiest to deal with. One good scare that shows you’re not an easy target and his little fantasy world about you will be destroyed. He’ll scuttle off back to whatever filthy rock he crawled out from under.”

Shaking his head, Anakin ran his hands through his hair, talking to the ceiling as he tilted his head back. “You sound so confident.”

“I will not let this man hurt you, Anakin.” Ben came over and lifted a hand to cradle Anakin’s face, stroking his thumb along his warm cheek.

Seeing the fear in Anakin’s eyes, Ben kept his own face as calm as he could, but a powerful rage thinned his mouth into a line. _No one should ever be made to feel this way._

_Ever._

 

* * *

 

Among the soft hum and rich scents of a Lower East Side cafe in the late afternoon, a man sat at one of the corner tables checking his email on his iPhone with a large bouquet of red roses laid on the table next to him. Despite his muscular build, there was nothing about him that truly stood out: from his plain features to his simple clothes he had always been able to blend into a crowd without much of a problem, and today that held as true as ever. No one glanced at him or even the roses: it was Valentine’s Day, after all. There had to be a dozen guys in dark coats carrying roses around just within a five-block radius.

Grant du Crion picked his phone up, holding it closer to his chest, and held in the smile that tried to creep across his face. _ill be there soon,_ he typed, hitting the send button.

_stop fucking texting me_ , the answer came back almost immediately. _ill call the cops i fucking mean it! theyll be here in 2 minutes!!!!_

He sniggered at the message, unable to help himself, but no one took any note of him. Someone left the cafe, the bitter February wind sighing in through the door past his table, and almost everyone else stayed quiet with their heads down, bent over their phones.

_So he is home_ , Grant thought with a faint, low swell of excitement working through him and making him shift in his seat. _My pretty little ballet boy._

_You clearly want me to come over or you wouldn’t be there after I told you I was coming over today. You wouldn’t be texting me. You’re such a tease, Anakin. But don’t worry, Daddy will be there soon to put you in your place._

Grant imagined how much fun it would be, making Anakin see how much he wanted him, how much he needed a strong, firm hand in the bedroom. _Delicate, weak little things like you need someone to take charge. You’re just scared to admit it._  

Picking up the roses, he finished off the coffee he had spent the last hour nursing as he had imagined all the ways he’d enjoy that lovely, lean body he’d first seen in a performance his wife had dragged him to months ago. It had fascinated him, how pure and fragile Anakin had been under the stage lights, and surprised him how achingly hard he’d gotten just watching Anakin dance, even with his wife sitting right next to him. He’d played around with men on the side before, but the encounters had always left a part of him unsatisfied, and now he knew why. They had been equals, men like him.

_I needed the right type of man. One like you, fragile and delicate, just begging to be used. I’ll bet no one strong and confident enough to really do that, to show you what you are, has come along yet._

_Well, not until me._

After that little epiphany, Grant had spent a while contemplating exactly how he would make this happen, surprising his wife with tickets to another performance Anakin happened to be in to tide himself over while he waited. He could be patient. _So very patient._

The first strange messages and packages had been carefully planned. It was important Anakin see Grant as what he was: the dominant force, the one in control of the situation. So he had plotted it out thoughtfully so as to frighten his dear little dancer just a little more each time: “I am here and I know who you are,” progressed to “I know where to find you online,” and finally, once he had spent a pitifully small amount of money on a public records website, “I know your number and where you live.”

_Like one of your dances. Me leading you. Guiding you into understanding your place. Into understanding that I want you and that I_ will _have you. I always get what I want._

Walking outside into the brisk cold, strolling down the street toward Anakin’s building with the roses under his arm, he fished his phone out and sent another text: _almost there anakin are you ready for me_

_last chance motherfucker_ , came the near-instant response, his phone pinging brightly.

He laughed and put it back in his pocket, pace quickening.

 

* * *

 

A few ugly long blocks and three flights of stairs later, Grant knocked on Anakin’s front door, a knowing, unpleasant grin on his face as he heard footsteps slowly approach. He had originally planned to pretend to be a delivery man with an order of roses for Anakin, and once the door opened he’d shove his way inside, but with Anakin texting him like this he didn’t even need that pretense to check if he was home or not.

_He’s going to let me right in like the good boy he is, I bet. Which is too bad, in a way. I wouldn’t mind a little wrestling at first while he pretends he doesn’t want me._ Licking his lips, his smile widened as he heard the locks turn, metal snapping aside and the door opening. And then Grant’s smirk abruptly died.

The man in the doorway was not Anakin.

And he was grinning at him in the same nasty, knowing way Grant had been just a second ago. “Hello there,” he murmured in a crisp British accent, hands shooting out to grab Grant by the shirt and yanking him inside. Planting his foot to trip Grant even as he threw him against a beat-up sofa, the man kicked aside the bouquet of roses that fell as Grant’s arms flailed out, sending them skidding in a soft velvet pile to the far corner of the room.

As Grant scrabbled along the back of the sofa, startled and trying to get back up on his feet, the other man slammed the door behind them and shoved him once and then twice along toward the little eating niche that passed for a kitchen and dining room in an apartment this small.

When Grant regained his feet and whirled he found himself staring down the length of a metal baseball bat and a single, angry command. “Sit.” The man twirled the bat without looking away, letting it come back to rest with a cold, encouraging tap against Grant’s cheek. “Fucking sit down, you piece of shit.”

Grant did on instinct, dropping into one of the chairs of a cheap Ikea dining table set, but his shock was already fading, replaced with a singing, vicious adrenaline.

He sat back in the chair, shoving the bat away with a harsh laugh as he took in this shorter, skinnier man daring to threaten him. “This is bullshit,” he spat, anger and excitement surging. “What, are you his boyfriend or something? Another dancer? Is he here?” Leaning back, he surveyed the apartment and called out toward a closed door he guessed was probably the bedroom. “Anakin, I’m here!”

The redhead glared at him, and Grant lifted his chin higher in response, refusing to acknowledge the smallest bit of fear creeping into him at the utter fury in the dancer’s blue-grey eyes as he held out his free hand toward Grant. “Wallet.”

Grant gave an exaggerated shrug at this demand, feeling control of the situation already returning to him. “Sure thing,” he sneered, and tossed it on the imitation wood table to slide over to the man, who picked it up and flicked through it with his unchanging, icy expression. “Like I was dumb enough to bring my ID, jackass. The only thing in there is cash for a taxi.” Grant sat back and put his hands behind his head as if he were relaxing at his own house, curious to see if he could antagonize this little prick further. “Maybe some to stuff in Anakin’s pretty little mouth when we’re done, you know, as a reward for being such a good boy for me.”

Tossing the wallet back at him so hard it thumped off his chest, the redhead tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Phone.”

Grant laughed, now enjoying himself, and took it out to slide across to this pathetic excuse for a boyfriend as he picked his wallet up off the floor and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. “Ok, James Bond. Have fun trying to guess my password.”

He took his time looking around the tiny apartment and its one tall window, earlier anticipation returning after this momentary setback, imagining having Anakin over the little table he now sat at, wondering what Anakin’s bedroom was like and what kind of bed he had. _Does it have a headboard I can tie you to?_ “Anakin, tell you what!” he yelled toward the closed door, “Your boyfriend here is really ruining the mood. I’ll come back later when he’s not around.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the Brit said, and Grant turned back to see him with his own phone out, the baseball bat tucked under his arm as he took a picture of whatever was on Grant’s screen and clicked the side of Grant’s phone to turn the screen off. Saying nothing, he set it down with a thump to start typing on his own phone.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning back in the chair and determined not to show any anxiety as the man shoved Grant’s phone back across the table to him in a rough slide, tapping away on his own phone. _Whatever. He’s trying to rattle me because he knows a little fag like him could never actually take me in a fight,_ Grant chuckled to himself. “Is that Anakin you’re talking to? Tell him I say hi. And that I’m about to beat the shit out of you to make a point to him.”

The redhead glanced up at him, phone still in hand but bringing the bat up to tap impatiently along his shoulder. “No, sorry, it’s not him. It’s just me and you, and I think we need to talk, Grant.”

Grant’s blood froze in his veins, shock shooting so hard and sharp across his mind he couldn’t speak. _Did he... did he just use my name?_

The redhead smiled, the bat tapping slowly away. “I mean, I can call you Grant, can’t I? Or should I call you Mr. du Crion?”

“What the fuck?” Grant hissed, yanking his phone out of his pocket, unable to believe what he was hearing. Jabbing the button on the side, he shot a quick look down only to see the usual lock screen come up. “How the fuck--”

“Shut up, Grant.”

Grant stood up and backed away, colliding with the rough, unpainted brick wall behind him. It dug into his back through his coat, blunt and hard. _How? How the fucking hell?_

“No, no. Sit.” Gesturing as if he were welcoming him to a dinner party, the redhead pointed to his seat with the bat. “Let’s engage in a little negotiation, shall we?”

Mouth opening but nothing coming out, Grant sank back into his chair.

“I can’t beat the hell out of you, as much as you deserve it and as much as I would love to. I can’t even touch you with this bat,” the Brit offered, thoughtful tone belied by his unwavering glare. “That’s your trump card. Let me tell you about mine.”

“What are you going to do?” Grant shot back, seeing where this was going and stubbornly, angrily refusing the idea of ceding the upper hand to this prissy little Brit. _So he knows my name somehow. Probably some Siri shit. So what? I mean, really? Who gives a fucking fuck?_ “You’re going to call the police? Ooo, I’m so scared,” he taunted, mind racing a mile a minute and liking what it found. “They, they don’t give a fuck unless something happens. And nothing has. I’m just an old boyfriend stopping by to see him, I’ll tell them. Fag drama. I’m rich and with no criminal record. They won’t give a shit. I’ll be back here tomorrow if I want. What do you think of that, James Bond?”

“Are you finished?”

“For now, I suppose. You’re a joke. What does Anakin see in you?”

“Hmm,” he mused as if he hadn’t heard him, addressing the brick wall just above Grant’s head as if in deep thought. “Yes, you’re right about the police, I’m sure. I imagine the police here aren’t any better than back home. Most likely, they probably won’t care much. Even about the nudes you sent.”

Grant snickered.

“But I think Marianne will.”

The world ground to a complete and total halt as the Brit turned his phone around to show it to Grant.

It was a new text message screen, with his wife Marianne’s phone number filled in at the top and a simple message waiting to be sent: _here is what your husband has been sending my boyfriend._ The nudes he’d sent Anakin sat in a neat row above the text, the distinctive light teal and white their master bathroom was painted in even more damning than his own naked, aroused body.

“What the FUCK?” Grant shouted, reaching out to try to snatch the phone away, but the man pulled it back, lifting the bat back up to point at him.

“There’s my trump card, Grant. What do you think of it?”

“Erase that! Right fucking now! How did you get her number? What the fuck?!” He exploded out of his seat, the chair skittering back to thump off the wall behind him, and the man shook his head, that dangerous grin still there and far more terrifying to Grant than it would have been a moment ago. “Don’t you fucking send that!”

“No, no. Grant. No violence, please,” he replied with the icy calm of a winter lake. “You put a scratch on me and I will have you arrested for breaking and entering and assault.” He kept the bat aimed at him as he turned the screen off and tucked the phone away. “I sent your name and her name and number to several different people while you were sitting there smirking at me, you see, so some sort of brawl to get my phone away from me now will not help you in any way. Now,” he said, leaning over the table to jab the bat hard into Grant’s chest, “for the last time: sit down, shut the fuck up, and listen.”

Grant collapsed back into the chair, at a loss for words.

“Here’s how this is going to work, Grant du Crion. You will not text Anakin again. You will not send him any packages. You will not come within sight of the Lincoln Center or this apartment. You will not make any attempt to contact or see him ever again. If any of these things happens, if I think for a second there is the smallest, most remote possibility one of them _has_ happened, Marianne gets a call and a text from me.” The redhead leaned forward as if the two were the best of friends sharing an inside joke. “Perhaps I won’t even say you’re a stalker. Perhaps I’ll cry my eyes out and say you two have been together for--”

“You wouldn’t,” Grant whispered, horrified. Marianne was fairly attractive and a decent wife, but more importantly her side of the family had all the money ever since the mining company he’d inherited from his father had failed a few years back. _Fuck. Fuck!_

“--let’s see, you two have been together for at least a year now and how heartbroken I am to have found out. Would you like to find out how good of an actor I am, Grant? Though I don’t imagine I’ll need to be that good once she sees those nudes, hmm?”

Grant could only gape at him, speechless, his mouth trying to form words but nothing coming out. He felt himself folding in, weak with panic, terrified at the thought of his comfortable life vanishing into nothing. _She can’t find out, she’d leave me in a second! I’d have nothing!_

“So, have I made the details of our arrangement clear, you worthless piece of shit?” the man smiled with far too much teeth, pulling the bat back to rest across his shoulder once more.

_She can’t find out. She can’t find out._ “Y… yes.”

“Will you ever attempt to contact Anakin again?”

The name no longer stirred any kind of desire for Grant, just raw, bitter terror. “No. I won’t. I swear.”

“Call me ‘sir’. I think I’d like that.”

“No, sir,” Grant whimpered immediately, afraid of making him angry. “I won’t. I swear, sir.”

“Good,” the man nodded in slow approval, pointing at the door and enunciating even more clearly in that prim accent of his, as if he were speaking to a particularly stupid dog. “Now... piss... _off_.”

Grant slunk past him and out of the apartment, unable to look up, painfully aware of the man’s hard, steely gaze on him as he hurried away.

 

* * *

 

Ben forced himself to lean casually against the railing of the hallway stairs leading down, arms folded and trembling fists tucked out of sight, watching Anakin’s now-former stalker descend and burst outside in a sweep of the door. He moved to one of the windows lining the outside wall and continued to watch him until he was out of sight far down the street, lost in the crowds milling along the sidewalks. Still lost in a black rage, Ben was dimly satisfied to note the man didn’t so much as glance back once, shoulders slumped as he practically scurried off in the direction of whatever hole he’d crawled out of.

After a long stretch of minutes, more to calm himself than keep any kind of watch, Ben walked next door and knocked, bat in hand.

“Everything turn out ok?” the burly man who answered the door asked, leaning out to peer around. He was broad and tattooed, his blond buzz-cut bright against his dark skin, and if Ben remembered correctly his name was Rex. “That asshole get the message?”

“Yes. I don’t think Anakin will have to worry about him again.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve that kind of crap.” He leaned back into the apartment, calling out. “Hey, Skywalker! Your boyfriend’s here.”

“Thank you for letting him stay with you today. But,” Ben shrugged--he didn’t want to correct him, but he knew he should-- “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure he’s not,” Rex winked. “And any time. He’s a good kid.”

Anakin hurried to the door, looking back and forth between them as Ben handed the baseball bat back to Rex, who wandered back into the apartment to put it away with all of the other sports equipment he and his twin brother owned. “He showed up?” Anakin asked, too worried to be pleased at Rex’s assumption about their relationship.

“He was here but he’s gone now. Here’s your phone back,” Ben said, sounding as casual as he could despite the anger still flaring inside him at Anakin’s worried face. “He was kind enough to text before he came over, like we thought he might. Don’t erase any of those messages, ok?”

Anakin took it, unconvinced, as Ben stepped inside Rex’s apartment and closed the door. The apartment was cozy and warm, little gold trophies and carved Maori masks lined up on the shelves in the living room behind them. “You should have let me be there too, Ben. What if something had happened?”

“No. He doesn’t deserve to see you. Or hear you. Or be in the same room as you,” Ben answered firmly. “And now he understands that. You won’t be seeing him again.”

“How did you get him to give up?” Anakin felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “You didn’t attack him, did you? You said you wouldn’t do that. You could go to jail for that!”  
  
“And I didn’t, Anakin, I swear. All I really needed was his name, and I was able to get that from his phone. With Satine I used to have to startle them into giving me their wallets. Then I’d take their driver’s licenses. Actually fighting them was always a last resort, even when I was younger.”

Anakin blinked at him, unconvinced. “He didn’t have his phone locked? You didn’t threaten him into unlocking it, did you?”

Ben reached out to take Anakin’s free hand in his, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe him. “Interesting note on iPhones... on the lock screen if you click Emergency it doesn’t automatically dial anyone. It gives you another set of choices. One is called Medical ID.” Ben got out and held up his own phone, showing Anakin the white screen that popped up. In simple black and white it showed his full name at the top and an emergency contact name and number, someone in England Anakin didn’t recognize. “It’s the kind of thing you set up once and don’t think about ever again.”

He pointed at Anakin’s phone, forgotten in his hand. “I texted you and Padme the photo I took of your stalker’s ID page. I don’t think we’ll ever need it again, but you have it just in case.”

“He’s really gone?” Anakin asked as Rex came back from one of the back rooms with a purring white cat tucked into one muscular arm, scratching under his chin.

“Yes. And he knows if he ever in any way tries to contact you again I will call his wife and let her know what he’s been doing.”

“No shit?” Rex said as Anakin stared in awe at him before clapping Anakin on the back. “Keep this one. I like him.”

Ben smiled, inwardly thankful for this man’s sense of humor and the way it cut through the last, lingering tension in the room. “Thank you, Rex.” Turning to Anakin, he shrugged. “I was thinking we could go have dinner somewhere, if you’d like to get out of here for awhile?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Anakin beamed at him, letting out a long sigh of relief before looking over to Rex with a hopeful expression. “Would you mind keeping Are Too over here for awhile longer?”

“Nah. I figured he’d be here ‘till tomorrow anyway. Cody and I’ll keep an eye on your place too just in case.” Rex said, gently rubbing the cat’s head to another loud rumble of purring.

“Thank you. I owe you.”

“Hey, you fixed our window unit. And our fridge. Anytime, Skywalker.” As the two headed back to Anakin’s apartment to grab their coats and scarves, Rex closed his front door and spoke to the content cat in his arm, whispering to him in a conspiratorial tone. “You’re definitely here until tomorrow, Are Too. Good thing you like me.”

 

* * *

 

As Ben and Anakin quickly discovered, trying to find a place to eat on Valentine’s Day that wasn’t already booked or full proved nearly impossible, but the long walk did both of them good in smoothing out their emotions from the sharp, jagged highs and lows of the past day. They strolled next to each other, taking comfort in the other’s presence, easily losing themselves in the simple act of threading through crowded Manhattan foot traffic and changing street lights.

On the eighth try, Anakin about to suggest a pizza back at his place, they found a little cafe longer than it was wide with one last empty table in the back. Glad at this point to not be sent back out into the cold once again, they gently wound their way through the soothing hum of conversations and other seats and tables and stripped off their coats, sinking down with happiness into the chairs.

Anakin looked up at Ben in the dim lamplight scattered all around them, at the soft red of his hair and the reassuring smile he gave Anakin, and true understanding dawned on him through the shock of the last twenty-four hours. _He really could have gotten hurt doing that. He risked his own safety to help me. And his visa, his job..._

_He did that for me._

The sweet, shallow affection he’d been nurturing for Ben ever since Padme’s party deepened at that moment into something stronger and almost frightening in its intensity, and he tried to find words for it. “I… I can’t believe you did that for me… Thank you. I can’t thank you enough, Ben. That was… that was really brave of you. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

Ben waved his hand dismissively, a little embarrassed as he picked up the single page menu from the table. “It’s nothing, Anakin. I just, I know from Satine what going through that is like and I… I didn’t want you to have to go through the same.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said one more time, undeterred, sliding his hand out across the table to squeeze Ben’s before taking it back as their waiter came over.

The rest of the dinner passed quietly, the conversation light and airy and avoiding what had just happened by mutual, unspoken agreement. Among several interesting facts about Anakin’s home state of Arizona, Ben also learned that Are Too’s name came from a long tradition that started when Anakin was a toddler. The family’s first cat had been “Am Not,” named after young Anakin’s propensity for that phrase, followed by “Is So” and now “Are Too.”

“Your mother let you name them that?” Ben chuckled, winding a long pasta noodle around his fork, lost in the bright smile Anakin returned.

“Mom was just glad I didn’t name them after Transformers. I really like robots,” he said, loving how soft Ben’s eyes were as they studied him, how the sharp, hard glitter of earlier had melted away to leave only affection.

For his part, Anakin learned that Ben meditated, something that didn’t entirely surprise him but was still hard to imagine. “I can’t believe anyone can do that in a city like this,” he said, motioning around. “Don’t you need a quiet place for that?”

“You’re supposed to be quiet in here,” Ben said, tapping his chest just above his heart.

“Are you?”

“There are days it’s easier, and days it’s harder,” he said after a moment of thought.

“Do I make it easier or harder?” Anakin asked, unable to resist a bit of gentle teasing.

Ben considered the question, pouring them both more water from the carafe the waiter had left at the table. “Both,” he finally said with a grin.

When dinner was finished, Ben immediately reaching for the check when it came and Anakin quietly thanking him once again, they found themselves back out on the street and a light snow starting to fall as they looked up into it, tying their scarves.

“What now?” he asked Anakin as they set off in a slow walk back in the direction they’d come through silhouettes of buildings set against twilight skies, long blocks away from Anakin’s apartment.

“Well…” During the meal, tucked away in the cozy darkness of the packed cafe with Ben at his side, Anakin had felt safe and at ease, but the thought of returning to his apartment that night sent a faint, unpleasant chill through him. “I… uh… could we go somewhere else? Maybe to get drinks?”

“You don’t want to go back tonight?”

“No,” he sighed, hands tightening into fists in the pockets of his coat. “I trust you, Ben. I believe you when you say he’s not coming back.”

“But you’re still on edge,” Ben nodded, running his hand up and down Anakin’s back as they walked, his brown glove light against the black wool. “I know. He was just there today. I don’t know that I’d want to go back to my apartment the same day if that had happened either.”

“Yeah. I mean, if you don’t want to get drinks, I could maybe call Padme? See if she’d let me stay…” Sabe’s haystack of pink ribbons came to mind, and he sighed. “No, never mind. She’d murder me if I called right now. Maybe I could, I don’t know, get a hotel?” _Christ, that’ll be expensive._ “Or use that sofa in the dressing room at the Cen---”

“Anakin?” Ben asked, quietly interrupting, hand still on Anakin’s back. “Why don’t you just stay at my apartment?” As soon as the offer came out, he realized how it probably sounded and quickly, guiltily added, “I’ll take the sofa and you can have the bed.”

Anakin stopped in mid-stride, surprise clear in his voice. “No. I mean, no, of course I’d take the sofa, but… you wouldn’t mind letting me stay?” Anakin blinked at him, trying to fight the same blush rising on his face he saw in faint pink on Ben’s as they studied each other, no doubt thinking the same thing as they remembered the darkened practice studio and Anakin kneeling at Ben’s feet. _The two of us alone in your apartment is either the best or worst idea I’ve heard in a long time._

Ben cleared his throat, hand falling away as he stepped back. “I promise to… ah… behave myself if you do.”

“I will,” Anakin boldly lied, thinking about his remarkably poor track record with behaving himself when it came to people he wanted to sleep with, and not even wanting to consider the deep, new attraction he felt for Ben in light of what had happened today. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! As I always like to say, thank you so much for your support and comments and thoughts! <3 <3 <3 They mean a lot to me and keep me going when the writing gets tough. Let me know what you think about this chapter and thanks as always for reading!
> 
> AND BEHOLD! I bring you glorious, beautiful fan art of Ben in the snow, ballerina Padme, and the Ben/Anakin smooching from Chapter 4, all by the amazing [jerseytigermoth](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr! You do such gorgeous art and it inspires me every time! THANK YOU!!!!!
> 
> [Ben in the snow](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/post/156887784417/finally-ive-finished-this-one-id-been-sat-on-a)  
> [Padme](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/post/157035341187/hello-yes-it-is-that-time-again-thats-right)  
> [Ben and Anakin](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/post/157290126072/please-enjoy-some-late-night-obikin-doodlin)
> 
> Oh, and about our stalker "Grant": I wanted a young-ish guy (not Palpatine... ewwwwww) who had caused problems for Anakin in the past. Wookiepedia to the rescue: Granta Omega kidnapped Anakin once and apparently caused all sorts of trouble for Anakin and Obi-Wan, so he got to step up for the stalker role. 
> 
> (If you're like me and don't know much about the EU, another fun fact is that Granta was the son of Xanatos who was Qui-Gon's second Padawan and ended up going Dark. It's just a giant ball of issues around the Temple, isn't it?) 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again and see all of you in two weeks, give or take a few days, for the next update! <3


	6. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the chapter you've all been waiting for, the one where they have a huge, awful fight (kidding, kidding!). I just wanted to give a heads up that while this is still an M fic there is definitely NSFW material ahead.

By the time they walked back to Anakin’s apartment so he could throw together an overnight bag, darkness had crept in over the city. Fat, puffy flakes of snow continued to fall and melt, leaving the streets and sidewalks wet and glinting red and green from stoplights and gold from the light that spilled out of shops and apartment windows.

Ben waited outside the building under its paltry awning while Anakin ducked back in, taking a deep breath of the crisp air and trying to lose himself in the gentle fall of snow descending through the canyons of the city all around him. _Is this ok, having him over? What if something happens tonight?_

 _I’m… I’m not like_ him, _am I?_

Sighing, Ben closed his eyes, trying to center himself in the moment and give himself a quiet, calm mental place to assess the situation from. _Breathe in. Notice what is around you._

 _It’s cold. People are walking by, laughing at someone’s joke. My keys are in my left pocket, wallet in my right. Breathe out. In. Out._ He followed that pattern a few more times, focusing on nothing more than what his senses told him, and when he felt calmer he allowed in the thought that had him so keyed up and attempted to hold it at arm’s length, to examine it dispassionately.

 _Anakin is going to be sleeping at my flat tonight._ The urge for a cigarette hit him so hard and unexpectedly for the briefest of seconds he was a teenager again, leaned against a rough brick wall out of sight behind his school with one between his lips as bitter smoke trailed into the bare blue sky overhead. _I could use a fag. God, I haven’t wanted one in years._

Ben stared hard across the street at a hole-in-the-wall laundromat edged in neon without seeing it as he tried to pin down his swirl of feelings and the desire to smoke left as quickly as it had come.

Now that he was alone for a moment, the weight of what he had done earlier that day sank down first in a rush of jittery fear and anger as he remembered facing down Anakin’s stalker. _He could have hurt me. Badly._ _But, truthfully? I don’t care. I would do it again,_ Ben knew, and did his best to let that feeling pass through him and move on to his other emotions. _If I can help someone I will._

There was anxiety about tonight, about whether or not Anakin really wanted to stay at Ben’s apartment. There was excitement at the thought he might, given their encouraging and very enjoyable past encounters, and then more concern about what that would mean for their increasingly ignored agreement to be "strictly professional".

 _If… I suppose if he starts something tonight, I won’t stop him. There. It’s decided. Maybe that’s what we need, to get this out of our systems_ , he told himself, feeling better at having made a decision of some kind even if he wasn’t sure just how sound it was.

Then there was no more time to lay his feelings out and try to categorize them and bully them into logical submission: the door swung open off to the side in a loud creak and Anakin was back, a lean shadow in black with lovely blue eyes made indigo in the dark as the door slammed back into place behind them. “Hey,” he said, a bag over his shoulder and his voice muffled by his scarf pulled up over his mouth. “You could have waited inside.”  

“I like the cold,” Ben said, nodding down the street and sounding as casual as he could. “If we hurry we can catch the next train to my place.”

“Lead on,” Anakin smiled from under his scarf, seeing the same beautiful tension he felt reflected in Ben’s eyes and relieved he wasn’t the only one delightfully anxious about what direction the night might be headed in.

 

* * *

 

A brisk walk and a few subway stops later, the two standing quietly and a little shyly together first on the platform and then on the train, Ben unlocked the door to his apartment in a jangle of keys and let them both in, flicking on the lights as he did.

Anakin stepped in behind him, looking around with a bit of awe. The address wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as Padme’s neighborhood, but the building had had a doorman and an elevator, marking it as a much nicer one than his own before he ever saw the interior of it.

The apartment itself had come furnished, Anakin realized when he saw the same crisp modern lines of white and ecru inside that had started down in the lobby, and it disappointed him somewhat because he had been looking forward to seeing what sort of place Ben kept.

Pulling his scarf down and unbuttoning his coat as he wandered into the living room, the first and only open door off the main hall, he looked around as Ben shut the front door behind him and locked it, curious if anything here would be him at all.

Amid the perfect emptiness of sparse walls and simple furniture in the living room, a dozen pieces of art hung together in a cloud of wooden frames over the white sofa that sat between the room’s two narrow windows. All of them were inked line art, exquisite monochrome renderings of real life: Anakin’s gaze drifted from an open hand expertly rendered in spare lines of grey and black to the sharp peaks of an autumn forest lost in clouds of mist rendered in ink wash.

 _I wonder…_ he thought, stepping closer and looking for a signature. A tiny “O.K.” was hidden along the busier lines of each illustration, and it took him a second to remember Ben had once said he shared Anakin’s dubious luck of having an odd first name. _So these are his, I bet. They’re incredible… so much detail and realism. And to do all that in ink, without making mistakes?_

He then noticed the books stacked neatly in several different piles on the end tables in front of the windows, histories and biographies and a random smattering of what looked to be literature and poetry, affection for them clear in the careful way they’d been arranged despite the lack of book shelves in the room. The loving precision brought a smile to his face as he thought of Ben’s patient yet demanding attitude during rehearsals.  

As if on cue, Ben came in from the hall, tugging off his own scarf and coat, and Anakin nodded to the drawings. “These are yours, huh?”

“Yes. What do you think?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could as Anakin took a few fascinated steps closer. It was the first time he’d had anyone at this apartment other than Satine and he felt strangely exposed, more so than he had during their more intimate moments.

“They’re really good,” Anakin smiled over his shoulder. “Are these all new?”

“Thank you,” Ben said, relieved Anakin didn’t find them boring as some people did. “No. I always buy cheap, old frames and leave them behind when I move, but I roll the drawings themselves up and take them with me when I move, which is almost once a year at this rate. Everywhere I live I make a few new ones, and sometimes I get rid of an old one or two when I move again.” He walked to stand next to Anakin, looking up at them thoughtfully as he reached out and took Anakin’s coat and scarf. “It’s sort of like a timeline of my life, in a way. Like a diary.”

“Do you ever draw people? Faces, I mean?”

“No, they move too much,” Ben said, walking back out into the hall to hang everything up and his voice drifting back to Anakin around the corner. “I usually go to the same place and sit and draw it over a week or so. The one of the hand is an exception. It’s my own, and one of my first drawings in this style.”

“Huh. Well they look really good.”

“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?” he asked as he leaned in the doorway on his way to the kitchen.

Anakin stuffed his hands in his pockets, definitely wanting a drink to calm him down but not sure if getting liquored up was the best way to handle tonight. “Just water, I guess?”

“All right.”

Ben disappeared back out of sight, and Anakin flopped down on the lush sofa, nudging his shoes off and curling up with one of the books from the top of the pile closest to him. _Roman Emperors and Their Armies_. “Hey, Ben?” he called, idly flipping through the book and pausing on the illustrations.

“Yes?”

“Have you been to the Met yet?”

“The museum? No, I haven’t got the chance yet.” Ben asked, coming back and handing him a cold glass of water before sitting down on the other end of the sofa with his own.

The ice clinked against the glass as Anakin took a sip and set it down on a low coffee table, careful to use one of the plain coasters scattered there. “You have to go. You’d love the Roman and Greek galleries, I bet,” he said, tapping the cover of the book in his lap.

“Have you been?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s fun to just walk around in there, and see all of those things from all those different places and time. It’s like traveling without spending all that money, I guess.”

Ben smiled and took the book as Anakin offered it to him to place it back atop its pile. “Do you like to travel?”

“I would, but other than coming to live here I haven’t really. One day, though, I’d love to go around the world. Go to new, different places, meet new people. Try to learn new languages. Just try something new, you know?”

Ben thought about it, resting his arm along the back of the sofa as he drank his water. “I’ve done my share of traveling for work, and as for me I think I’m almost ready to settle down for a while. It is incredible sometimes, yes, but it gets exhausting as well, going somewhere new all the time.”

“What’s the most interesting place you’ve been?”

Over the next hour they gradually fell into the same easy conversation they had at Padme’s party, the low, simmering tension between them almost forgotten in the excitement of learning new things about each other. They moved from Ben’s experiences abroad to Anakin’s robotics hobby, which intrigued Ben as he studied the elegant mess of Anakin’s diagrams and notes in a journal he produced from his overnight bag with some shyness much in the same way Ben had asked Anakin’s opinion about his drawings.

One of Anakin’s designs reminded Ben of a short story, which when he told it reminded Anakin of a different story Ben happened to have in one of his books he had shipped everywhere, and Anakin immediately settled in cross-legged on the sofa to read it as soon as Ben could find it.

By two hours into their evening, Anakin had a beer in his hand and Ben a glass of red wine, the two relaxing and settling in as if they were old friends catching up, conversation quiet and curious. Anakin never forgot who Ben was and how attracted he was to him, but he was relieved to find they had so much to talk about beyond ballet, how sharp and intelligent Ben was and how dry and acidic his humor could be though he never aimed it directly at Anakin.

For his part, Ben watched Anakin jump from topic to topic with a fondness that was hard to describe, because it usually annoyed him when someone couldn’t stop and focus on a single thing at a time. But with Anakin it was different: he gave Ben energy and ideas, sparking his own thoughts and opinions like low rolls of thunder in his mind to run alongside Anakin’s lightning.

They moved closer together as they relaxed more, starting on the opposite ends of the sofa at first, but as they looked at a book together or something on Ben’s phone or one of Anakin’s sketches as he explained one of the finer points of the design, they shifted until Anakin finally found himself lying across the sofa, his head resting on Ben’s thigh and Ben gently stroking his hair as he read his favorite poem aloud to Anakin in that low, lilting voice Anakin felt in his gut as much as he heard.

Anakin closed his eyes, listening to the words slip past, loving the feel of Ben’s fingers in his hair as he read.

When Ben's voice fell away into silence and the light stroking of his hair stopped, Ben’s hand a warm weight against his cheek, Anakin opened his eyes and smiled up at him. “Hey,” he murmured, putting his hand over Ben’s and squeezing.

“Hello,” he answered with affection clear in his voice as he teased him. “You weren’t even listening, were you? Were you asleep, Anakin?”

“I was too listening, but you can’t blame me if your voice hypnotizes people, Ben. Want to hear my favorite?”

“You have a favorite?” he asked as their fingers twined together and slipped apart again.

“You sound surprised.”

“Most people don’t like poetry.”

Anakin shrugged and closed his eyes, voice quiet. “The heart can think of no devotion/Greater than being shore to the ocean/Holding the curve of one position/Counting an endless repetition.”

Ben smiled fondly, nodding. “Robert Frost.”

“Yeah. I don’t read a lot of poetry but I really liked that one when I heard it back in school. The idea of finding someone, someday, to belong to like that. Even if it’s not perfect, you know, the way the sea and the land sort of fight each other sometimes. The one won’t move and the other never stops, you know? But they’re still together. Forever.” He sat up, suddenly embarrassed, and glanced away, out of the window into the grey of the city night. “Nevermind… I mean, it sounds dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it’s a beautiful poem. I think we all want someone like that, on some level.” Ben finished off the last bit of his wine and set the glass down, looking down at his hands. “Someone who will accept us for all of our flaws.”

Anakin heard the faint traces of pain in his voice, something unpleasant briefly remembered. _No, don’t be sad. Please, don’t be sad._ He found and gave him his best, most dazzling smile, touching Ben’s cheek to turn his face toward him before clearing his throat and frowning with the melodrama of a TV doctor giving a grim diagnosis. “Your only flaws are you wear white to dance in and you don’t watch cheesy dramas. After all of our conversations, those are the only flaws I have been able to find in you, Mr. Kenobi.”

Ben had to laugh at Anakin’s expert deadpan delivery. “Is that so? Only two? And I would argue that second one is not a flaw...”

“Well, there is one more.”

“Go on?”

Happy, relaxed, Anakin went with his instincts even as his heart started to hammer. “You have not tried anything with me once tonight,” Anakin dared to say, pretending to be offended and lifting his chin.

Chuckling at his acting, Ben lifted his hand. “Guilty as charged.”

“And you won’t. You’re going to tell me we shouldn’t.”

“That’s what I should say, yes.”

Anakin was ready to argue with him about it, to make a playful, teasing case for what they both clearly wanted, but Ben’s words gave him pause and he stumbled for a second before breaking character. “Wait. You won’t?” he asked, surprise clear on his face.

Ben watched him, feeling his heart and his mind warring as they so often did when it came to Anakin. His earlier decision made in front of Anakin’s building, the one to give in, now seemed too simplistic, too over-confident, and he sought reassurance one last time to still the darker thoughts lurking deep within him. “Anakin, I… I will be honest with you.”

Sitting up, reaching out to take Anakin’s hand in both of his, he kissed it and held it in his lap as he spoke. “I want you more than I have anyone in a long, long time. But I don’t want to abuse my position. I don’t want you to ever, for a moment, think you have to do any of this because I’m your choreographer.”

Anakin beamed and waved his free hand, dismissing his worries without a second thought. “Ben, our first time I had no idea who you were, and I liked you just fine, remember?”

“Oh, I do…” Ben admitted, softly kissing Anakin’s hand and rubbing his thumb along the back of it, “but if we sleep together it complicates things at work. Even if no one knows it will complicate things between us.”

Tilting his head, Anakin frowned at him, even as the tips of his fingers ran along Ben’s palm. “No it won’t. What, like you’ll feel you have to give me a part? Don’t. If I’m not good enough for a part, I don’t deserve it. And no matter if we’re dating or not, what I want doesn't really matter anyway. You’re a perfectionist. You wouldn’t give a role to someone who wouldn’t make it look good. Big pouty blue eyes or not.”

Ben blinked, surprised at the maturity Anakin revealed in the bloodless, clear-eyed way the dancer assessed himself and the situation. “Well, ah, that is true. You do make me sound a bit heartless… but I can’t in good truth argue any of it. I suppose I should be insulted but I’m not.”

“So see?” Anakin offered, pulling his hand back to run through his dark hair, convincing himself as much as he was Ben. “No worries at work between us, and if we keep it quiet no one else will find out. I’m not a first soloist and you’re not my choreographer right now, Ben. We’re just two people alone in the city. And,” he thought about it, “when you’re old and grey wouldn’t it be nice to remember that secret whirlwind affair you had in New York with that hot Arizonan?” he asked with a grin, unable to resist one last dramatic addition.

“I imagine that would impress everyone else in the care home,” Ben joked, unable to help himself. His last bit of resistance fell apart under that enchanting smile and knowing gaze and he felt no regrets as it did. “Are you going to tell yours about the ‘hot Brit’?”

“Well, I’ll tell my robots. I plan to be living on the Moon with a few when I’m 80.”

“Ah, I see.” Ben nodded in mock seriousness. “So, I must ask… ‘a secret whirlwind affair’ implies more than one night, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. I know I’d sure like more than one night…”

Self-depreciation slipped into his voice before Ben could stop it, one last flicker of hesitation. “You don’t know that, Anakin. I could be terrible in bed. I could be--”

“No,” came the sharp, firm reply. “I do know that. I’m sure of it.” Before Ben could argue any further, Anakin leaned over and kissed him as hard as he could, done with talking, with words and sentences that only conveyed half of what he felt and knowing he could convince Ben much better with his body of just how badly he wanted him.

Sighing in pleasure, Ben sank back into the cushions, pulling Anakin with him and letting Anakin set the frantic, demanding pace of the night’s first kisses. Meeting Anakin’s rough advances with gentle ones that grew bolder, Ben sighed as the last traces of his reluctance fall away under Anakin’s touch like snow melting in the spring.

When they eventually pulled apart, Anakin’s hands already dropping to Ben’s belt, Ben stopped him with a trace of his fingers along Anakin’s face with one hand as his other pulled Anakin’s hand away. “We have all night…” he murmured, soothing away the confusion in Anakin’s eyes at the interruption with another kiss, his lips brushing Anakin’s as he spoke. “Let me look at you. Let me really look at you.”

Ben sat back and ran his fingers over Anakin’s face, sliding them down his throat and along the fine line of one collarbone with a tender smile. He brought his other hand up to brush away a stray lock, the tip of one finger tracing the hairline scar that ran down Anakin’s right temple. Realizing what he was looking at, Anakin opened his mouth to explain why but Ben only shook his head, and he realized Ben didn’t care right now how he’d gotten it: Ben only cared because it was part of him. He was seeing Anakin, memorizing him in one of these last moments where they were apart and the first moments they were together.

It was a new experience, being looked at so carefully and lovingly by someone other than his mother, and Anakin blushed at the steady, intent fascination Ben regarded him with. The urge to make jokes came and went, quickly followed by the urge to force Ben into kissing him more, the first of several frantic ideas that rose and fell away under Ben’s steady, blue-grey gaze until there was only a baseline of trembling desire inside Anakin, ripples from an unseen stone spreading across a silent lake.

He closed his eyes, unable to meet Ben’s gaze anymore but a delicate yearning forming inside his soul for more of this, for more of this gentleness that made him feel more desirable than anything else ever had as Ben’s fingers ran along the hollows of his throat, down his chest, along his arms.

Lost in warm darkness, he felt the sofa shift as Ben leaned in close, felt Ben’s breath and the sweet scent of wine drag slowly along his cheek. His hands sliding over Ben’s legs and digging in as Ben planted a hot kiss along his throat, Anakin moaned and leaned into him, eyes fluttering back open in surprise as he ran a tentative hand up into Ben’s hair.

Ben gently pushed him back, Anakin’s head coming to rest on the sofa arm, more kisses falling along his lips, his throat, slow and teasing.  Staring up at the bare ceiling, tanned hands bronze against the copper of Ben’s hair as they sank into it, Anakin arched his back to push his chest up into Ben’s, to show him with a luscious grind of his hips just how much of an effect he was having on him already.

Ben pulled back enough to smile down at him, a lazy, happy expression, and Anakin brought his hands up to rest on Ben’s jaw, holding him there. It was his turn to look, that gesture said, and Ben’s breath caught in his throat at Anakin examined him, blue eyes bright with lust and need Ben had first seen at the fateful Christmas party and a new, deep affection that he had not.

“Ben…” Anakin finally whispered, and then words gave out once again as they kissed, Ben’s weight warm and heavy as they lay there on the sofa beneath the art and with snow falling past outside the windows. Anakin’s hands slid down Ben’s back, found his shirt and pulled it up and over his head as Ben offered no resistance, holding his lithe arms up to let it slip past them.

Anakin dropped it onto the floor without looking, too entranced by Ben’s pale, strong chest and fine down of hair along it. He ran his hands along the smooth planes of muscles, over the hard, lovely pink of his nipples, playing with him in simple delight as Ben gave a long, pleased sigh and watched him with hungry eyes.

“Your turn,” he murmured, and then Anakin’s shirt was off too, the air cool on his skin. Ben’s mouth followed his hands, each line his long fingers traced followed with his lips and tongue and, once he tried and found Anakin eager, teeth, leaving soft, hazy bite marks the color of sunsets along his sensitive skin. Anakin’s hands played with Ben’s hair helplessly as he did: this playful, luxurious kind of affection from a lover was rare for him, and he could only sigh and whimper in stunned approval at how it made him feel. He felt beautiful, like he did when he danced.

His whole body began to burn, a slow, building fire that crept across him, Ben’s touches and kisses sparks left to burn here and there until the heat consumed every inch of him.

He lay there for a long while, losing track of time and everything else but where Ben kissed him. The snow fell outside, silent and white, and the only sound in the room was the radiator hissing softly on the other side of the room as they lay together, as their hands drifted across soft skin and rough denim.

“Anakin?" Ben murmured, his forehead touching Anakin’s as he kissed his nose. “Do you want me to…?”

“Yes,” he whispered as Ben stood, pulling him to his feet. “I want you. I want you…” he swallowed, giving Ben a quick, rough kiss for courage, “I want you to fuck me… please… please?” He was begging, he knew, but the slight amount of embarrassment that rose at doing so vanished at the hunger that flared in Ben’s eyes.

Ben answered him by catching him by the waistband of his jeans and tugging him along into the darkened bedroom Anakin learned was down the hallway past the kitchen.

As they stumbled into the room together, Anakin wordlessly dropped onto the bed and rolled over onto his back, bending his knees up to yank his jeans and underwear down, but before he could get them off Ben knelt on the bed and reached down, tangling a hand in the mass of denim bunched up along Anakin’s knees.

Giving it a solid twist, wrapping more of the fabric around his hand, he pushed it forward, forcing Anakin’s knees against his chest and leaving him bare and exposed below the waist. Gasping and grabbing at the bed, Anakin stared up at Ben in puzzled arousal while Ben leaned over him, giving him another kiss on his forehead, and with his free hand opened a drawer to produce a small bottle of lube from the bedside table by Anakin’s head.

Smiling at Anakin, he opened it and let a little fall in the sensitive line of shadow Anakin couldn’t look down and see with his knees pinned against his chest, bringing another blush and aroused gasp before he ran his fingers along Anakin’s pinned thighs and down into the center of him. They were silent for a long while save Anakin’s groans and Ben’s quickened breathing as Ben leaned down again, his tongue exploring his lover’s mouth in deeper and deeper pushes just as his fingers worked in lower in gradual, teasing thrusts that threatened to drive him mad.

He eventually let go of Anakin’s jeans, and Anakin tugged them free while biting off another moan as his wriggling as he pulled them off only forced him down more onto Ben’s fingers. “There…” Ben whispered as Anakin brought his legs back down and out, and wrapped his free hand around the swollen proof of Anakin’s arousal to give it a few slow, steady tugs of approval as he continued to work inside him with the other. “God, look at you,” he breathed with a dark, heady reverence.

Anakin rocked his hips against him, delirious with pleasure, eyes glazed over and mouth parted. “Please… please…”

“Here,” Ben said quietly, guiding Anakin’s hands to continue what he had started, pulling away long enough to strip off his own jeans and pull a condom from the nightstand. At the distinctive crackle of the wrapper tearing open, Anakin bit his lip and pushed his own fingers deeper inside himself, anticipation almost unbearable.

Anakin stared up at Ben kneeling once again in front of him, eyes wide with pure need as he showed Ben what he wanted, what he needed, as he licked his lips in a silent plea.

In the darkness of the bedroom, Ben’s face was in shadow, his eyes a dark indigo, but they glinted nonetheless with that same near-desperate need, and Anakin realized somewhere inside the heady fog of his own lust that Ben was fighting himself, forcing himself to hold back and not give in fully. Not yet, anyway. “Ben…” Anakin begged, and then let out an excited hiss of a sigh as Ben leaned down over him, one hand guiding the tip of himself to rub along the dark, secret part of Anakin that ached for him.

“So perfect… so perfect…” Ben whispered, kissing him as their bodies came to rest together, his chest and stomach warm and heavy and flat against Anakin’s as he settled in between his legs, gently pushing in little by little, his own hand splayed out on the pillow next to Anakin’s head.

Anakin clutched at his own thighs with his slick fingers, sliding his hands up to the back of his knees to keep them apart, to welcome Ben in with his lean legs as wide apart as he could get them. They kissed again and again, interrupted only by sudden moans from Anakin as Ben would slowly thrust his hips against him, just barely moving deeper inside each time. Ben smiled into Anakin’s wordless gasps, breathless himself with the pleasure that burned with each arc back and forward into the beautiful man under him.

When he was deep enough inside, he slid his hand away to grab at Anakin’s hip instead, pushing all the way inside and letting out a strangled curse at how good it felt and how Anakin shoved his hips upward in an instinctive, greedy response. _I could fuck him all night, all day, God, so tight, he’s so tight…_

Anakin’s nails dug into the back of his legs as he tried to lift himself higher, the sensation hot and sharp but nothing compared to the maddening flare of Ben pinning him down into the mattress. They kissed again, distracted brushes of their lips together, lost in the sheer pleasure of their lovemaking as they moved together, finding their rhythm as easily as if they had always been together, as if they had known each other across a hundred lives and a hundred worlds.

“Anakin,” Ben growled between thrusts that grew harder and faster, repeating his name like a prayer as he arched his hips, his back, trying to give all of himself to his eager lover. Anakin slid his legs around Ben’s waist and brought his hands up over his head to splay them against the headboard, to push himself against Ben more, tanned fingers light against the cool black wood.

Ben let his hand fall inward from Anakin’s hip, to start again that lovely, firm stroking up and down the length of him.

At this new rush of stimulation Anakin bit off the loud cries he wanted to give, the lust that tightened his throat and sang through his whole body, turning his head to press his mouth against his arm and the pillow, letting out choked, muffled gasps instead. He never wanted Ben to stop. He wanted this to continue forever, to be here under him, to be his, to hear Ben’s harsh gasps in his ear and feel him sinking deep inside him to another delirious wave of heat rushing through every part of him. And for a long, spiraling arc of time, measured only in thrusts and cries and luscious friction growing more and more heated, it was all either of them knew.

But Anakin’s body could only hold out so long, a frail thing compared to the brightness of his soul, and as he felt the last, final rise of white heat swell up from deep inside himself his fingers tightened along the headboard and his eyes met Ben’s, open and bright with pure, vulnerable need. “Yes,” he whimpered, over and over again, the word so paltry and yet perfect for the world opening inside of him, stretching as far and beautiful as eternity even as it faltered into hot, blinding spasms of release. His body shuddered under Ben’s hand, under his thrusting hips, white spraying across his flat, lithe stomach and Ben unable to hold back any longer, losing the last, hard-fought battle against his own deep lust.

He pounded against Anakin so hard he shoved him back up against the headboard, Anakin’s hands giving way to his forearms as he braced himself against the unyielding wood even as he gave shaky cries, further pleasure wrung out of him in the last rough, hard slaps of Ben’s hips against his.

Ben swore in an almost incoherent growl as he came buried so deep inside of him Anakin gave a soundless, gasping scream, and then Ben collapsed atop him, both of them trembling and lost in orgasm, their hearts thudding as they blindly shivered against each other.

It was the best sex Anakin had ever had, and as coherent thought returned one scattered realization at a time, he lay there reveling in every sensation that came along with them: _He… We… oh God._ Ben’s beard brushing against his throat, the feel of his legs draped lazily over Ben’s hips, the sound of their shallow, frantic breaths echoing out into the sparsely decorated room. _He was so strong, and he… he was so careful, so loving…_

“That… that was amazing. You were amazing,” he managed to whisper up into the shadows with only a slight tremor in his voice as Ben gently pulled out and turned away, stripping the condom off and dropping it in the trash by the bed.

“You too...” Happily worn out, Ben returned to lie down against Anakin’s chest, as stunned and pleased as a traveler who had unexpectedly found home a million miles from where he started. The silent peace that lay heavy and warm around them, between them, soothed every part of his soul, and he luxuriated it for a long while before he found the strength to lift his head and smile at a dazed, equally blissful Anakin.

“Anakin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you still want more than tonight?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, exhausted, lifting a weary hand to run through Ben’s damp hair.

“Good. I want more than tonight, too.” It felt almost as good to say that as it did having Anakin lying under him, admitting the truth to himself and allowing himself the possibility that maybe, just this once, it was alright to enjoy himself.

Anakin beamed at him, catching his slick face in his hand and stroking his cheek with a thumb. “How long is your contract? How long are you here for, I mean?”

“Until the end of November, if I remember right.”

The smile they shared said it all: here, sprawled together across Ben’s bed in the dark, nine months was forever. “I’d say that’s a good time frame for a secret whirlwind affair. Plenty of fodder for the old folks’ home.”

Ben chuckled and kissed Anakin’s nose, nuzzling against it with his own and loving the tender way Anakin smiled back at him. “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh (deep sigh of relief)... the boys are finally dating! All secret like! For the next nine months! <3 This was such a relaxing, enjoyable chapter to write, I have to admit, after the angst of the other two I'm working on right now (Broken and A Walking Shadow), and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> And look, look, look! MORE ART! Thank y'all so much!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
>  
> 
> [therealimagine28 drew Anakin dancing in Chapter 2!](https://therealimagine28.tumblr.com/post/157970456806/see-me-i-am-here-see-me-i-am-here-see-me-love)
> 
>  
> 
> [jerseytigermoth drew the boys meeting in Chapter 1!](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/post/158275280442/hey-writegowrite-i-did-it-again-please-accept)
> 
>  
> 
>  Thank you both and again to all of my readers for all of your support so far. :D 
> 
> Oh! Before I forget! Fireflyfish (the girlfriend who this is being written for as a Christmas present) recently updated [The Eagle and The Wolf](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7835731/chapters/22718888), an Obikin retelling of Ladyhawke. Go check it out!
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for all of your kudos and comments! Next update will be in two weeks give or take a few days, as usual.


	7. Ghosts

Anakin had never been in love before. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to be mature about this fling with Ben, to be aloof and distant and take it as the casual relationship he figured Ben saw it as, but he knew he was in love with Ben the second he woke up the morning after their first night together.

Ben was asleep, warm and heavy against him in the cool dark of the bedroom, and Anakin found himself deeply, desperately in love with him as light flakes of snow drifted past outside.

It wasn’t like the movies and the dramas he enjoyed so much: no fireworks, no urge to go running down the street shouting Ben’s name. It was secret and profound and still as a lake in an underwater cavern, its waters soothing and cold against the constant, restless fire inside him.

He didn’t tell Ben when Ben wandered into the kitchen an hour later, following the rich, luscious scent of bacon cooking, bleary-eyed and surprised to find Anakin awake and making breakfast. He smiled to himself as Ben’s arms wrapped around him from behind and Ben leaned into him and murmured a good morning into his ear. “I never thought you would be a morning person…” Ben said with a groggy disbelief against Anakin’s back, his breath warm through the old T-shirt Anakin wore.

“Recent development. I never thought you wouldn’t be,” Anakin grinned over his shoulder.

“Mmm. Recent development for me too. What are you making?”

Anakin turned halfway to let Ben see the stove, easily sliding his free arm around Ben’s waist while deftly nudging a yellow mound of scrambled eggs around a pan with a spatula. “Working on scrambled eggs, bacon’s just finished, and based on what you’ve got lying around, I can make some heathen American-style French toast if you want some.”

“That might be nice,” Ben said, leaning into Anakin as if he’d fall back asleep on his feet.

They stood together quietly, delicious scents filling the little kitchen, Ben’s hand gently stroking up and down the small of Anakin’s back as Anakin nuzzled a few kisses against his throat and continued cooking. “So, do you have any plans on our last day of freedom before we go back to work tomorrow?”

“No. You?” Ben asked, reluctantly pulling away from Anakin with a yawn to start getting dishes and cutlery out.

“Nothing. I need to go get Are Too back, but after that want to go see a movie or something? Or we could go to the Met, since you’ve never been?”

“I’d like that, going to the Met. I can take a shower while you’re finishing up in here to save us a little time, if you want.”

“Aw, I was hoping to take one with you,” Anakin teased from over his shoulder as he lifted and tilted the pan to slide the eggs out onto the plates Ben had put out for him.

“Oh, were you?”

Anakin pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding enthusiastically as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Yeah.”

“Then I suppose I’ll wait,” Ben grinned as he leaned past him to get the salt and pepper shakers from their shelf, kissing Anakin’s cheek as if they’d been together for years.

Anakin smiled down at the plates, so happy at the gentle touch, at their closeness, at the immediate familiarity that had sprung into life between them. _I love you_ , he thought, and his smile grew wider at the bright secret now burning within him.

They started breakfast at the dining room table that had come with the apartment, a fussy glass affair with padded white chairs, but as Anakin stirred his coffee and tried to get comfortable Ben looked down at his own chair and then back up at him. “You know, I’ve lived here for, what, two months? And I don’t think I’ve ever actually eaten at this table.”

“Where do you usually eat?”

“The sofa, when I do eat. I get so busy I forget sometimes.”

Anakin laughed. “That’s never a problem for me. Want to move? I have to admit, I feel like I’m way too underdressed for this table.”

“Is there such a thing? Too underdressed?” Ben mused in a perfect deadpan, standing and lifting his plate and mug as Anakin did the same.

“I know, right! But the police just don’t understand.”

“They never do.”

A very lazy breakfast and equally luxurious round of shower sex later, Anakin darted out to head back to his apartment, telling Ben he’d meet him in the lobby of the Met an hour later.

Ben stole another kiss before Anakin disappeared out the door, a strong sense of unreality stealing over him once the door had closed and he was alone again in the carefully bland apartment.

 _There he goes, just like the night we first met_.

_Did all of that really happen? The studio, the stalker, last night, him sitting here eating with me? The shower? Did any of it happen?_

Ben knew it had. Even if one wanted to argue against the memories themselves there was no way to deny the pure, contented post-sex satisfaction he felt down to his very bones and the faint, teasing stings of fresh hickies Anakin had left in places no one else would see under his shirt.

_You are incredible, Anakin. I have no idea what you see in me, but I hope you can see it in me a little while longer._

 

* * *

 

Over a month later, Bail Organa wandered down one of the many paths that wound through Central Park, enjoying the warm sunlight on his face and the pleasant hum of conversation all around him. It was a gorgeous spring day, clouds sitting in indolent white piles in the sky and the trees lush and green all around him.

Tucking the book he’d brought along under one arm, a shopping bag draped from the other, he pulled his phone out of the light jacket he wore and sent a text as he turned off the path into the expanse of green field known as the Great Lawn that sat in the heart of the park. _where are you?_

_near the water where that little castle is._

A few minutes later he found his friends atop one of the many blankets scattered out across the field: Ben hunched over a sketchbook and Satine leaning over to examine his progress on what looked like a pencil landscape study while Anakin lay on his side dozing in the sun next to them.

Ben and Satine were casually elegant as they always were, Ben in khaki and white and Satine in the pale blue lines of a long cotton dress with a coat thrown over it, while Anakin was in what Bail thought of as his uniform: snug black jeans and a dark hoodie, pulled up to keep the brilliant daylight out of his face.

“Hello!” Bail called as he walked up through the soft grass. “I picked up a few things at Dean and Deluca for us.”

“Bail Organa!” Satine answered in delight as Ben stood and hugged Bail. “It’s been such a long time! How are you still so attractive?” she wondered, rising for her own hug.

“We all know you have always been the best-looking of us all, Satine,” Bail winked.

“And you,” he said, turning back to Ben as Satine sat back down. “I haven’t seen you in awhile! Since what, that last dinner we got together for? You look good.” The last sentence was given with a caring squeeze of Ben’s shoulders as Satine dug around in her bag for her own contribution to the picnic lunch, some fresh fruit and bread from the bakery near her apartment.

“I feel good,” Ben answered with a glance down at Anakin, pretending he didn’t see the relief on Bail’s face and focusing on the unspoken question in the raised eyebrow as Bail followed his gaze down to the still-sleeping dancer.

 _So Anakin is the mystery boyfriend...?,_ the look said, surprised but pleased.

Ben gave a quick answer in the form of a smile and then smoothed it over as they both sat down. “Shall we have lunch?”

With an approving nod to both the spoken and unspoken, Bail started to unpack his bag as Satine chuckled and poked at Anakin’s ribs, earning a sleepy grumble. “Wake up, Anakin. Bail’s here and I think he brought those chocolate-covered cherries you like.”

“I did,” Bail offered, shaking a little silver tin before setting it aside, watching Anakin sleepily sit up and blink at him. “Hello, Anakin.”

“Hey,” Anakin said with a yawn and a stretch so lazy it was almost criminal, stretching fists high into the air. “How are you and Breha?”

“Good, thank you. She’s gone to Italy for the month with some friends. Left me with the dogs,” he said while Ben set aside his sketchbook to help lay out their combined mountain of food to the rustle of bags and click of plastic containers.  “How are you?”

“Not going to Italy, but I guess I can’t complain,” Anakin grinned, stealing one of the cherries to toss into his mouth.

“‘But I guess I can’t complain,’ he says,” Satine said in a pitch-perfect American accent as she rolled her eyes in fond disbelief and dropped back into her normal voice. “Ask him about his latest role.”

“Oh, in one of your productions?” Bail looked over at Ben, who shook his head proudly.

“No, not one of mine. One of the company’s that will premiere after the break. He got the news yesterday.”

Anakin crossed his legs and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, but the excitement in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Long story short, it’s a kind of important principal role. Mundi said I’ve been dancing better than ever recently.”

“Oh?” Bail said encouragingly. Anakin’s bright joy was impossible to ignore, to not get wrapped up in yourself. When the young man was happy, it was difficult not to be happy too. It was what made him so memorable, even beyond his dancing.

“When they start giving first soloists like Anakin big principal roles, it means they’re testing him out to see if they should consider him further for a principal position,” Satine explained as she and Anakin made up small plates of fruit to hand to everyone using little dishes from a picnic basket next to her. “It’s exciting news for him.”

“Well, good luck with it,” Bail smiled at Anakin as he took the dish from him. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“I hope so,” Anakin said, the sun sparkling gold in his hair as he turned to Ben. “Did you know they were going to do that? Offer me the role?”

“No, not at all. They inquired about you last week, lots of questions about how you’d been responding to criticism and such, so I had wondered,” Ben replied, stealing the tin of cherries from in front of Anakin and offering them to Satine before looking back at him with warmth in his voice. “I’m very proud of you, Anakin.”

“It’s not easy being a principal, I know,” Anakin said, darting an unconscious glance at Satine as she took one of the cherries, “but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to be and I hope I get the chance one day.”

“Do you have a dream role?” she asked, charmed by how shy he could be when it came to things that were important to him. “Mine is Giselle. Not very original, I know.”

“Oh, wow, really? Me too, sort of. I’ve always wanted to dance a male version of her,” Anakin beamed. “Maybe the Wilis bring on the occasional guy or something. I mean, we can die of broken hearts too, right?”

“That would be interesting,” she thought aloud before turning to Bail once she realized he wasn’t following. “Do you know ‘Giselle’?”

“No. Wait, aren’t there ghosts or something in that one? That’s all I know.”

“Yes, actually. There are slightly different versions, but the general story is that Giselle is a poor peasant girl who finds out her mysterious lover is actually a nobleman betrothed to another. She dies of a broken heart, and a group of young ghost women who haunt the local forest bring her back to join them. They’re all ghosts of young girls who died of broken hearts, and for revenge they make men dance until they die.”

“Yeah, the Wilis are really demanding. Like Ben at rehearsals. But in a lot more white,” Anakin offered helpfully, getting a raised eyebrow and look of mock offense from Ben.

“Yes, exactly like Ben,” Satine agreed without missing a beat, drawing an exaggerated hurt look from the choreographer as he dramatically clutched his chest at her betrayal. “They end up forcing her lover to dance all night, but Giselle still loves him and tries to help him escape their magic. At the end of it all, Giselle goes back to her grave at dawn like the other ghosts and her lover survives but realizes what he truly lost.”

Bail thought about it. “It sounds beautiful. There’s something very powerful about that idea, I think. A lover still very much in love with someone but accepting their fate to be alone and--” His phone gave a crisp buzz from the blanket where he’d set it, Breha’s smiling picture appearing on the screen. “Oh, it’s my wife!” he said in pleasant surprise. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”

Bail stood and walked away, cheerful greeting and questions about Italy receding as he walked around other picnickers and blankets, moving back out toward the edge of the field.

“He has a point about Giselle,” Satine mused, picking up Ben’s sketchbook but waiting to flip it open until he nodded it was alright. She opened to the last page first and idly began flicking through the drawings, most of them ones she had seen before: quick pencil studies of a bridge, an old tree, a skyline, done again and again as her friend tried to get a feel for them before starting any pen work. “There is something very appealing about the ending despite how sad it is.”

“He does. I agree it’s a powerful idea, but more because we all know some aren’t destined for happiness,” Ben said, thoughtful, as he laid back on the part of the blanket Anakin had been stretched out on earlier, putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the clouds dotting the blue sky. “It’s something that haunts us all, the fear of one day being alone, far more than any kind of spirit. I reckon that’s the real thing haunting the audience in ‘Giselle’. It’s not the ghosts. It’s the loneliness.”

Anakin frowned down at the blanket and smoothed out a wrinkle that didn’t really need attention. He had heard this tone from Ben a few times in the month they’d been together, one too calm to be overt sadness but something unreadable darkening his eyes all the same.

Without looking up, Satine reached out and rested her hand on Ben’s leg as she continued to look through the pages of his sketchbook, the gesture one of quiet comfort as the paper rasped each time she turned one. It bothered Anakin to see how familiar it was, the implication of how often this had happened in the past, and he made a mental note to try to talk to her about it later.

Whatever this was, it always seemed to come on quickly and sometimes stayed for hours, and Anakin’s hand tightened on his own thigh as he stopped himself from reaching out to run a hand through Ben’s hair. By mutual agreement, they had been very careful about not showing affection in public, especially this close to work, but it still annoyed Anakin to no end and he struggled to find something to say instead.

Somewhere nearby a group of children were running around, shrieking and giggling, a sharp contrast to their suddenly quiet group.

“Maybe some people aren’t destined for happiness by themselves, but you know what?” Anakin finally said, not sure where he was going but trusting his instincts.

“Hmm?” Ben replied, eyes drifting closed in the sun.

“Maybe if... if someone else finds them, it all goes out the window. You get to start over because there’s two of you.”

Satine looked up from the sketchbook now, curious to see how this would go.

“Do you think so?” Ben’s lashes were golden against his pale skin, his voice low.

“Yeah. Two is enough,” Anakin said with conviction, folding his arms to keep himself from reaching over to touch Ben.

“‘Enough’? To what?”

“To change things. To tell destiny to go fuck itself.”

Ben let out a short, surprised laugh, rolling his head to the side to look at Anakin, and Anakin was proud to see he’d broken the ice that had crept in over the blue of his eyes. “So eloquent, Anakin.”

“I do have a way with words,” he grinned, giving a small salute before reaching over to finish unpacking the bag Bail had brought as its owner meandered his way back over to them, his call finished.

Satine patted Ben’s leg and took her hand back, but she gave Anakin a longer hug than usual when they split up later that afternoon after a peaceful, relaxed lunch to cheerful goodbyes and promises from Bail to bring the dogs next time. “Thank you, Anakin,” she murmured against his chest, her meaning clear to him despite the vague statement.

“Anytime, Satine,” he whispered back.

 _Don’t worry,_ Anakin thought as he stood next to Ben and waved goodbye to her as she disappeared off into the wandering maze of paths and people enjoying the spring weather. _I’ll take care of him, Satine. I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Thank you for your patience and kind comments over on Tumblr while I took some time off to de-stress from a really awful few weeks at work recently. I'm back and will be back on my normal two-week-ish update starting today. I appreciate all of your support and comments!
> 
> (And for the ballet-knowledgeable, I swear to God I didn't know about Giselle until today! It sounds like a truly beautiful ballet and right up my alley for the angst. ;) )


	8. It's Who You're With

Anakin had grown up in a small desert town, and despite his years of schooling and then performance in Manhattan he still didn’t care for large crowds, the proximity and random noise of so many others only tolerable for a few hours or so a day before he felt the need to retreat back to the quiet of the studios or his apartment.

He normally preferred to wander the Metropolitan Museum of Art either very early or very late for that reason, but today he was thankful for the mass of tourists and locals all around Ben and him as they stood in the Roman gallery’s vast, airy hall crowned with skylights.

Anakin slipped his hand unseen into Ben’s and squeezed as he gazed up at the elegant statue of a young woman they stood in front of, rubbing his thumb along the back of Ben’s hand. “This is the best way to spend a birthday.”

The early afternoon sun drifted down gently and caught in Ben’s hair as he gave a small, secret smile upward to the statue as well, loving the furtive warmth of Anakin’s hand in his. “It is a lovely place.”

They stood, happy and shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd, moving slowly from piece to piece around the lofty room. Once Anakin had introduced him to the Met Ben had joined him more often than not for the quiet afternoons or mornings Anakin spent wandering through the sprawling maze of exhibits. They would walk silently and at ease with each other, occasional conversations a quiet balance of give and take: Ben’s expansive knowledge about history and art fascinated Anakin, and Anakin’s near-perfect recall of details that he’d overheard over time from tour guides or noticed in pieces he’d visited again and again always impressed Ben.

“Are you sure this is all you want for your birthday, Anakin?” Ben finally asked as they strolled through one of the upper halls that had a view of the arches and exhibits of the open space that was the museum lobby below. “You kept forgetting to give me a list, you know.”

“Yeah.” Anakin shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets as they drifted over to lean against the balcony railing and look down into the lobby. “We didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up so big, fancy presents were never really a thing.” There was no shame or embarrassment in his tone, just a matter-of-fact calm that showed how much he had come to trust Ben. “Even though she worked two jobs Mom would always make sure she had the day off on my birthday. We’d make a bunch of cookies together or go down and swim in the creek. She taught me, I guess, that it’s not what you get on your birthday. It’s who you’re with.”

Anakin ran a hand through his hair and shot a shy smile over to Ben, who wished more than anything he could take him into his arms and kiss him senseless right there. But he could only tighten his grip on the railing as he affectionately replied, “Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman, Anakin.”

“She is,” he nodded sagely. “And,” he said, pushing off the railing, “speaking of goddesses among women, I think Satine is texting me.” He pulled out his phone and checked it. “Yeah, she and Padme are here! She says they’re at the cafe and ready to buy me lunch.”

“Is it one already?” Ben blinked at him.

“Yeah. You have that doctor’s appointment at two, right? A check up or something?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Anakin. They run late sometimes, but I promise I’ll meet up with all of you later at the Organas for your dinner.”

“It’s ok. I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself,” Anakin said, leaning in close to whisper, “...and besides, I got you all this morning and all last night. I can’t be too selfish.”

Ben shook his head in mock admonition as they walked back into the crowd, letting his hand fall on the small of Anakin’s back once the crowd had swallowed them up. He left it there, a warm, soothing weight through Anakin’s T-shirt until they finally parted ways at the end of the next hallway.

Anakin continued on downstairs, happy and relaxed as he made his way through the museum to the cafe that sat off to one side of it.

The cafe was just as beautiful as the museum, all soaring windows along one side that showed the lush green of Central Park in late summer and little tables lined up neatly over the tiled floors. Anakin wound his way past waiters and diners toward Satine and Padme, seated over in front of one of the windows.

They had their heads together, whispering something quietly and laughing, and he wondered what they were talking about. “Hello, ladies!” he grinned as he approached, relieved to see there weren’t any suspiciously large packages or bags by their feet.

“Anakin!” Padme smiled as she stood, drifting around the table in a wash of white sundress to hug him. “Happy birthday!”

“Yes, happy birthday!” Satine added, folding him in for a hug of her own.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He nodded proudly and sat down with them, Satine patting his arm.

“So, Padme tells me it’s impossible to buy you a present.”

“Yeah. I don’t want people going out of their way for me.”

“Fair enough, but what about going places?”

“That’s ok…” he said, intrigued. “Where were you thinking?”

“Well, have you ever been to ABT’s school and studios? Down on Broadway?”

 _The American Ballet Theatre?_ “No.”

“I have to stop by for a bit today after lunch. Padme has to go help Sabe prepare your dinner, but if you’d like to come along, Anakin, I could take you on a little tour. And I’d love to introduce you to some of the people I’ve been working with.”

Anakin beamed at her, flattered she’d even consider doing such a thing, as Padme gave him an encouraging look. “I’d really like that. Thank you.”

“After lunch, then,” Satine replied as their waiter approached the table.

 

* * *

 

A slow taxi ride and a slew of handshakes later, Anakin was convinced that, between Ben and Satine and the dinner the Organas were hosting for him and Sabe was cooking, this was the best birthday he’d had since he was a teenager and he’d found out the NYCB was inviting him back for a full-scholarship school year after his first summer program.

ABT was not all that different from his own company in terms of the building and studios: while it didn’t have the impressive facade of the Lincoln Center it was mostly the same inside. There were small offices and overflowing wardrobe closets and dancers constantly walking past with friendly nods to Satine and a few to Anakin. In a whirl of handshakes, hugs, and happy conversation, Satine found and introduced Anakin to a dozen principals and directors of various sorts, telling a few of them that this was the dancer she’d mentioned before and a few of them recognizing Anakin before he had even said anything.

“Great performance last year as the Cavalier.”

“I saw you in ‘Lost Stars’, that Kenobi production. You really stood out!”

“They’re going to make you a principal soon, right? You should be!”

“If you ever want to dance together on an indie project or something, I’d love to dance with you! Here’s my number.”

Anakin smiled and nodded as they paused in one hallway after another to meet people, stunned at how many more of them knew who he was once she said his name. By the sixth compliment, he was almost floating as he walked, and barely heard Satine talking to him. “Anakin? Shall we stop by the studios?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, and she nodded as they made their way to one door at the far end with a _Reserved for Rehearsal: Do Not Disturb_ sign taped up outside. “There’s one more dancer I’d like you to meet. He’s my favorite that I’ve ever danced with.”

Anakin took a deep breath and stood up taller, trying to act as casual as he could as he followed Satine into the bright, sunny room. A wall adorned with much bigger windows than the ones they had at the Center let in ample light here, summer sunlight a hazy, welcoming glow across the hardwood floors of the studio. 

It silhouetted the man standing in the middle of the room, casting warmth on his auburn hair, his grey sweatpants and matching shirt, his nervous smile as he bowed to Anakin.

_Ben._

Anakin opened his mouth and closed it again.

After that glimpse of Ben’s dancing back in February, Anakin had been bothering Ben to dance for him or with him almost the entire time they’d been dating, without any kind of success to show for it. Every time Ben had gently but firmly refused, no matter how cute or sexy or pouty Anakin had been.

He would stretch with Anakin at home on their days off and make ice baths for Anakin’s feet when he stumbled home after a long night at work, but he never danced again where Anakin could see.

The only progress Anakin had been able to make in his attempts was that Ben no longer attempted to lie and say an injury was the reason, though he never elaborated beyond that. In return Anakin had stopped asking so much. That had been their detente on the subject, and while Anakin hadn’t been happy with where it had come to rest, he had known better than to push Ben and figured it was best left alone until Ben was ready.

And now, here Ben was. In dance clothes and a private studio, on Anakin’s birthday.

“I told you he’s my favorite,” Satine grinned over at Anakin, patting his back.

“Happy birthday, Anakin,” Ben said, walking over and offering his hand, Anakin’s growing, amazed smile reassuring him that this hadn’t been a stupid idea as he’d worried it might be. “May I dance for you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, too happily stunned to say anything else as Ben bowed and lead him off to the side of the room, where Satine was pulling out a chair from a stack of them.

She sat it down along the wall, and whispered to Anakin as he sank into it. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, unable to look away from Ben and the shy smile he wore.

Then the door was closing and they were alone, hands twined together.

“You’re really going to dance for me?”

“Yes.”

“There was no doctor’s appointment, was there?”

“Not today, sorry. But I promise I did make one.”

“Ok,” Anakin said, nodding and trying to remain calm before excitement won out and another grin broke across his face. “I can’t believe you’re going to dance for me.”

“I am.” He ran a hand through Anakin’s hair and kissed him on the top of his head, a tender, intimate gesture. “When I was in the corps, I was given several understudy roles over the years, and my favorite was Des Grieux in ‘Manon’.”

Anakin blinked up at him. “No way. Des Grieux? That’s a really, really hard role. For anyone.”

“Oh yes. Fortunately for the company, if I’m being honest, I was never called upon the night of a performance to step in, but I loved the challenge of learning it.”

Anakin thought about it. “It’s your style. Very precise.”

“Well, thank you,” Ben said. “I… I thought I could dance one of Des Grieux’s solos for you today. Where he first meets Manon. If you’d like that?”

“Yes. Dear God, yes,” Anakin said, nodding so vigorously it drew a laugh from Ben that broke the fine line of tension in his shoulders. “As long as we don’t end up like Manon and Des Grieux in the end I will sit here and let you woo me all day.”

“I don’t think we will. Besides, you’re the one who likes ‘Giselle’,” Ben teased, relaxing more as he turned to walk over to the speakers set up along the far wall. “Once I start dancing, should I worry that you won’t let me stop?”

“Yeah. You should,” Anakin declared, sitting back in his chair as the recording began, heart racing in anticipation, and bit his lip as Ben drew himself up straight, turning to face him from across the studio with his eyes closed.

Ben stood, perfectly still, centering himself, and when his eyes opened again to the first rising notes of music, his blue-grey eyes were soft and gentle on Anakin.

He took one step and then another toward him, confident and bold as he spun into a slow pirouette and fell easily into the slow and carefully balanced lines of a beautiful adagio. He was no longer the shy, intense man Anakin knew and loved: within a dozen steps, no doubt practiced countless times, he was a carefree youth with no other thought on his mind but romance.

Anakin watched, enraptured, as Ben approached him and extended his arms in a proud sweep, giving him a charming smile that came from more than the character before he fell back into his next set of steps, every pose lyrical. The part of Des Grieux relied on acting just as much as technical expertise, and while Ben’s lines were not the sharp perfection of a principal’s he had a natural gift for infusing each move and step with the bright, optimistic light of a young man falling in love.

Silent, Anakin felt his heart tighten as Ben glided over to gracefully drop to one knee, stealing Anakin’s hand for a kiss before sliding up and away again to warm swells of music. After all this time he still hadn’t told Ben he loved him, and it almost hurt how much he did as he watched Ben dance for him here on his birthday, dance just because Anakin had wanted him to.

He managed a smile through the careening rush of his emotions, and Ben gave a little one back before launching into the next set of pirouettes and jetes.

The solo was only a few minutes long, but it lasted forever for Anakin as he lost himself in every small motion, every shifting shadow along Ben’s lithe body, the natural balance and control Ben moved with. This opposite of his own dancing style was entrancing to Anakin, even more so than it had been the first time he had seen it, because now he knew how passionate Ben could be.

Watching the same man that had, at Anakin’s enthusiastic suggestion, roughly tied him to the bed and had him the night before now move with such beautifully unhurried motions stirred something deep inside Anakin that went beyond physical lust or even emotional connection.

It was need. Pure and simple. He needed Ben more than anyone or anything he ever had in his life.

When Ben sank into the final bow at Anakin’s feet and the music faded to silence, Anakin suddenly remembered his first unknowing dance for Ben, when he had looked up from his own kneel to find him there across the studio all those months ago. _Is this what you felt?_ he wondered, swallowing and throat dry as Ben brought his flushed gaze up to meet Anakin’s. _Did I make you feel the way you’re making me feel now?_

“That… was beautiful,” he whispered as Ben stood and offered his hand, one last gesture borrowed from Des Grieux.

“Thank you.” Rather than leading him into a pas de deux, Ben let out a happy sigh and pulled him in close before finally going off-script as he pulled Anakin in for a delicate, loving kiss.

Anakin leaned in eagerly, closing his eyes and trying to memorize the pounding of Ben’s heart and the smell of his cologne and the feel of his arms around him. _I love you. I love you. I love you_ , he repeated to himself, but his mouth refused to form the sounds and he just whispered his thanks over and over instead.

 

* * *

 

Ben had one more present for Anakin, something that he wasn’t sure truly counted as a present, and so he waited until much later that night, after they left the studios with Satine smiling like a particularly pleased cat next to them, after the amazing dinner Bail and his wife hosted for what seemed like half the company, Sabe cooking with Padme’s help, after they had made their way back to Anakin’s apartment and fallen into bed together in rough grabs and tugs on each other’s clothing.

They were shirtless and working on each other’s pants, laughing between kisses as Are Too bounded in to see what odd “grooming” the humans were giving each other again, and in the light-hearted moment Ben felt calm and safe enough to gather his courage and shape it into words as Anakin shooed Are Too out of the bedroom and closed the door.

“Anakin?” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed.

“Yeah?” he said, turning back with a naughty grin and strolling back over to straddle Ben’s lap, the bed shifting as he got back on it.

“There’s something I want to tell you.”

Anakin’s expression shifted to a mix of concern and hope and Ben wondered for a second what Anakin wanted him to say. “What is it?” He slid off of him, puzzled.

“I want to tell you why I quit dancing.”

“Oh.” The word was loud in the small, plain room, sharp against the faint sounds of traffic below that drifted through the window Anakin always kept cracked open on summer evenings.

“If, if you want to know.”

“I do.” He turned Ben’s face toward his own, fingers barely brushing his cheek. “If you’re ok telling me. I don’t want to pry or you to think you have to.”

“Really?”

“You don’t have to ever tell me,” Anakin said, not entirely telling the truth but willing to wait a lot longer than he would for anyone else. _When you’re ready. Whatever this is, it isn’t something I want to force out of you._

“I want to.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs and not looking at Anakin as Anakin scooted over to sit next to him, their hips and shoulders together, Anakin sliding his hand onto Ben’s leg.

It was a warm, soothing weight, and it gave him strength. “When I was young the only thing I ever wanted was to dance in the Royal Ballet. My mother took me to a performance when I was little and I just fell in love with it. Fierce, ugly, obsessed love. I offered to sell all of my toys to pay for lessons and, to humor me, my family let me take a course, thinking I’d get bored and give the idea up.”

Anakin smiled tenderly, squeezing his leg, imagining a young, determined Ben first learning ballet positions. “Let me guess… you didn’t?”

“I proceeded to get thrown out of three schools for being impatient with my peers. I was apparently quite demanding of my fellow corps dancers as a 7-year-old.”

Leaning against him, Anakin closed his eyes as a cool breeze wafted in from outside. “The early signs of a choreographer.”

“Possibly. Well, I finally found a school that was able to keep me in line, and by the time I was 14 I was accepted into the Royal Ballet School.”

Anakin nodded, sliding his arm around him as he continued, voice growing soft as he remembered. “Those were good years. That was where I met Satine.”

Sighing, he leaned into Anakin, still looking down at the worn wooden floor. “Four years later I auditioned for the Ballet, and made it. Somehow I made it. I was a member of the corps of the Royal Ballet.”

“You must have been really proud,” Anakin murmured against his throat.

“I was. I was so happy. And after just a couple of years it seemed like I might even have a shot at moving up in the ranks. One of the choreographers was always there with a friendly word or helpful piece of advice. I looked up to him so much. He always knew what to say or what to do, and before I knew it he was telling me that they were considering moving me up to soloist. I was so thrilled and thankful for all of his help.”

“Did something happen to him?” Anakin asked, puzzled at the new, quiet strain in Ben’s voice.

“No. Well, that’s not true. He died of a heart attack a few years ago,” Ben said with a hint of bitterness that surprised Anakin. “But, going back to my corps days... when he told me that, according to a meeting he’d just been to, I was going to be offered a soloist position the following week, he offered to take me out to dinner to celebrate.”

Anakin frowned, suddenly understanding where this might be going and stomach turning at the thought of it. _Oh no._

“I was too young and stupid to understand what was happening when somehow the reservations he allegedly made were canceled, and he offered to cook something at his place instead.” Ben gave a dry, sarcastic chuckle. “It’s amazing how blind youth and hope can make you. Do you know it took him trying to pin me against his kitchen wall for a kiss before I realized what was actually happening?”

“Oh my God, Ben. Did he…?” Anakin couldn’t finish the question, horror fighting rage at the thought of it.

“No. I punched him.” He shrugged. “I told you I knew how to fight. Split his lip and everything.” Ben sighed, resting his face in his hands and continuing from behind them, voice muffled. “He got angry, started shouting. Told me that I was a shit dancer and that he was the only reason I’d been accepted into the corps. He told me I owed him everything. Every role, every break I thought I’d made for myself was him, he said. And the worst part was, I knew deep down he was right.”

“Ben,” Anakin whispered, shocked. “Ben, you’re an amazing dancer. That’s not true.”

“Anakin,” Ben said, running a hand through his hair and sliding his gaze away. “I’ve always doubted myself for good reason. The doctors call it depression but it’s not. I’ve always been aware of all of my shortcomings. It’s a gift, I suppose you could say. Clear vision. And the choreographer pulling strings is the only explanation for how I got into the company. The Royal Ballet, Anakin. It’s the only one that makes sense.”

“If you think you’re not any good, you do not have ‘clear vision’, Ben,” Anakin replied, sliding off the bed to kneel in front of him in an attempt to meet his eyes. “Hey. Ben. Look at me.”

He did, and Anakin reached up and caressed his cheek. “Listen. You are a great dancer. Period.”

“Thank you, Anakin,” he said with a small smile of patient disbelief, sitting back and sighing up at the ceiling. He was beautiful, bare chest and shoulders strong and pale, and yet in this moment so fragile Anakin was almost scared to touch him.

Fighting the urge to argue with him, Anakin waited a moment before he spoke, not wanting to force him onward. “Do, do you want to keep talking about it? You don’t have to.”

“No, I’m halfway done. Might as well finish the rest.” Ben pulled Anakin up off his knees to sit on the bed next to him once again, his hands nervously brushing hair out of Anakin’s face so he wouldn’t have to look directly at him. “He… he threatened to have me thrown out of the corps if I didn’t go straight into the bedroom and take off my clothes. Told me I’d never dance in any company ever again if I didn’t. I told him to fuck himself and left. I quit the company the next day.”

“Oh, Ben…”

“But I couldn’t stay away. You never can, I guess, when you love it that much. So I left home and went overseas and found a tiny, independent company thrilled to have a choreographer from the Royal Ballet, even if I had only done a few pieces for Satine and our friends here and there during our schooling. And that was how I got started doing this. I love ballet. I just don’t dance it anymore, now that I know how awful I always was.”

He finally let his gaze shift to meet Anakin’s concerned one, grimacing. “I am a terrible boyfriend, aren’t I? Telling you this on your birthday. I am so sorry, Anakin.” He stood up, reaching for his shirt tossed further back on the bed. “I just wanted you to know and I haven’t told you--”

“Ben.” Anakin caught his arm, holding it firmly and not letting him walk away. “Ben, I am so sorry that happened to you. You really are a great dancer, and I would murder that asshole if I could. I would. I mean it. But I’m glad you told me. Thank you. Thank you for trusting me.” He took Ben’s hand in his, rubbing his palm between both of his, trying to soothe away the tension there.

Somewhere far below a police car roared by, its siren a distorted echo off the buildings crowded in against each other as Ben looked down at him, worry and resignation darkening his eyes. “Do you still want to be with me? I mean, what if I’m like him?”

Anakin tilted his head, taking a second to see Ben’s logic. “What, you’re worried that you’re using me? Ben, I’m the one that went after you at the Christmas party, remember? We’ve talked about this before. You’re not using me.”

“I know, and I love, you know, being with you. I just… I’m your choreographer. You’re my dancer.”

“And you have turned me down for parts I wasn’t a good fit for, remember? You are nothing like him, Ben. I promise.” Anakin gently pulled him down to sit on the bed once again, kissing the back of Ben’s hand and putting it against his cheek. “I don’t see you as a choreographer. I mean, I know that’s your job and you’re damn good at it, but that’s not what I see you as.”

“What do you see me as?”

“Someone like me. Someone who loves so much it hurts when the world doesn’t return that love.”

“What do you love?”

“Ballet. You.” Stunned at hearing the truth coming out of his mouth and frightened he’d said too much given the delicate emotional balance of the situation, Anakin quickly added, “Robots. Ess-a-Bagel bagels.”

Ben laughed, and Anakin felt a quick wave of relief at both his laughter and the fact his confession seemed to have slipped by unrecognized for the truth that it was. He didn’t want to tell Ben like this, not when it could be mistaken for pity or an attempt to ‘heal’ him. “Well, I suppose it’s good news you fancy me more than robots and bagels.”

“It’s close, I admit,” he said, stealing a kiss, desperate to make Ben smile again.

“Is it?” Ben said, the first glimmer of amusement breaking through the serious look in his eyes.

“Well, after last night you did pull ahead.”

“Ah, so the tying-up bit polled well with Arizonan ballet dancers?”

“100% approval rating.”

“Hmm.”

“But one poll might be flawed. We should conduct another one. In the name of science.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head, loving how much Anakin wanted to make him happy and feeling a deep sense of relief that after everything he had said tonight Anakin still wanted to make him happy. “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of science.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers!
> 
> If you'd like to watch the actual solo Ben dances for Anakin, [here you go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpk6q77iefA). Just imagine Anakin sitting where the girl (Manon) is, and Ben dancing for him as the young man Des Grieux.
> 
> And, as always, thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments and support here and on Tumblr! (I'm at writegowrite if you're new and would like to come say hi.) Let me know what you think! I love to hear from you, even if it takes me some time to get back to you. <3
> 
> (And yes, as a few of you have pointed out, they are so happy right now but there are still four chapters left. What could possibly go wrong? *innocent expression*)


	9. Choreography

By early fall Ben slept much better than he used to for several reasons: actually taking the antidepressants he had been prescribed, the trusting, comfortable relationship he and Anakin had settled into, and the sex they both loved having every chance they got.

This particular morning found Ben half-awake and fully aroused as Anakin whispered a good morning to him, shifting from lying beside him to straddling him in a warm, firm slide of his limber body to settle atop him. “Ben… Wake up…”

Ben blinked up at him, at Anakin flushed and gorgeous with his hair in his face, wearing only a T-shirt he quickly peeled off and tossed aside, taut thighs spread over Ben’s narrow hips as he worked Ben’s underwear down. “Good morning,” Anakin grinned as he started to fondle him, long fingers already slick with lube.

With a sharp, delighted intake of breath, Ben laughed. “You’ve been playing already, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, and making myself be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you up too soon.” Anakin bit his lip, letting it slip free in a beautiful pout. “It was really hard.”

“Oh, was it, naughty boy?” Ben slid his hands up Anakin’s hips to enjoy the lean, broad muscle of his chest, spreading his fingers out flat to support him in an invitation to trust him by leaning forward. Anakin immediately did, letting Ben fully support his weight as he continued to play with him.

“We,” Anakin murmured with a smile as their lips came close enough to kiss, his mouth brushing Ben’s, “we should put this in the dance.”

“Hmm? I don’t think this kind of dance would be allowed on most stages.”

Anakin laughed and stole a kiss, breath warm and sour from sleep but beautiful all the same for how close he was, Ben gently pushing him back up to where he had started with a groan of approval as Anakin stroked both of them. “One lowering and pushing the other up like that. A two-handed--ah!”

Ben had pushed Anakin’s hand aside to wrap around himself and start working up into Anakin, and gave a breathless grin at the effect it had on him. “Hmm…” He groaned, trying to keep his words from scattering at the feeling and sight of Anakin pushing himself down atop him. “Maybe…”

Anakin arched his back, naked and lovely, pink nipples hard as he ground down against Ben in increasingly greedy thrusts of his hips, Ben arching his own lithe body up into him eagerly.

Moaning as softly as he could, knowing the walls here at his apartment were much thinner than over at Ben’s, Anakin lifted his chin in lusty triumph at the sight of Ben below him, staring up at him in hazy adoration and pure need. “Mine,” he whispered, sliding his hands down over Ben’s clutching his hips, desire stealing more coherent responses to the deliciously thick weight filling him, sliding in and out of him hard and slow. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he repeated, the last one trailing out into a weak, vulnerable mewl of approval as Ben held Anakin’s hips firm against his and shoved up into him as deep as he could.

After a good, long while of slow, lazy lovemaking it ended in a sudden rush of lust and need, Anakin falling forward to prop himself up on Ben’s chest with one hand as he pleasured himself with the other, short nails digging into Ben’s chest as Ben pounded up into him in a sudden, desperate need to hear more of those sounds that went straight through him and left only searing heat behind.

Anakin whimpered in his ear again and again before his body shivered around Ben and he came in a white, hot trail across Ben’s flat stomach, attempts at speech reduced to incoherent gasps as harsh as Ben’s own.

At Anakin’s shudder and the warm, musky smell trailing the damp line left on his skin Ben gave in too, panting out Anakin’s name one last time as he orgasmed, thrusting blindly up into him.

Anakin took him gladly with another needy arch of his back, eyes unfocused and pretty mouth open, shaking as Ben’s release sent another wave of pleasure to ride along the one already flooding through him.

A few minutes later they were lying in a hot, slick tangle of limbs, Anakin bonelessly sliding down to collapse and roll over on his back next to Ben.

They lay there, staring at the plain white ceiling, and Ben weakly managed to find Anakin’s hand with his own and squeeze it. “Good morning to you too,” he smiled, turning his head to look at him. “You spoil me.”

“Well, I would have brought you breakfast in bed but it would be kind of hard to hold the tray while I’m riding you,” Anakin teased. “The orange juice would just go everywhere.”

Ben laughed and pulled Anakin close to kiss him, but Anakin pushed him back and rolled away, beautifully and unabashedly naked. “Hang on,” he said, smiling over his shoulder at Ben’s mock protest. “Let me write that down.”

He pulled a small, cheap notebook from the second-hand table he used as a nightstand and tugged the pen out that was tucked into the metal spirals. Flipping it open to a dog-eared page covered in handwriting that alternated between his messy scrawl and Ben’s more angular handwriting, he spoke as he jotted the words down. “Lower partner down with two hands and push back up?”

“Possibly, but that kind of low, horizontal move can be hard to read from a distance, from where most of the audience will be,” Ben told his own stomach as he wiped himself clean and tugged his boxers back up. “I’d say save that for another pas de deux.”

“So you _are_ going to put ours in your next production?”

“If Padme and Satine like what they see today, yes. But you’ll still be dancing it with the new soloist Ruwakada or most likely Quinlan. Not me, in any case.”

Anakin made a huge, exaggerated sigh and flopped onto his back, slapping the open notebook over his face. “Woe is me,” he said, voice muffled. “Denied dancing on stage with my hot boyfriend so I can show him off to everyone.”

“You lead such a hard life,” Ben said, lifting himself up with weary, happy satisfaction to straddle Anakin and lift the notebook off to drop it next to them on the bed. “Such a hard, hard life.”

“I do. It’s terrible. I have to wear clothes sometimes,” Anakin grinned, wiggling under him, and Ben chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“My poor little naturist. Come on, into the shower with you. Padme and Satine are going to be there at 7, remember?”

 

* * *

 

The center was still mostly dark this early in the morning and empty, not even the early bird dancers in yet, and Padme stifled a yawn as she let herself and Satine in through one of the side doors. There was a lingering, hollow heat in the morning air outside, the last gasps of summer before cool weather returned, and she flicked on the lights in one of the studios and turned on one of the big fans each room had this time of year to help along the ancient air conditioning while Satine arranged a couple of chairs for them.

Ben and Anakin arrived a few minutes later to the creak of the studio door opening and closing, already in their dance clothes and their bags slung over their shoulders. “Good morning, dear,” Ben said as Satine hugged him, kissing Satine’s cheek and smiling at Padme. “Thank you both for coming.”

“So I hear you have a pas de deux to show us,” Satine said, hugging Anakin as well before the two women sat back down.

“We do. It’s…” Anakin stood in front of them, tall and proud and, Padme thought with a bit of fond amusement, a little nervous. _It’s one thing to make friends with Satine Kryze, I suppose, and another to dance something for her that you’ve written yourself._

Anakin paused to look over at Ben in a silent question. Ben gestured for him to go ahead as he went to set up the music and he stood a little taller, as if he were being interviewed by judges. “It’s something we wrote together. Sort of. I mean, both of us.”

Ben turned and smiled patiently as Anakin looked at him with raised eyebrows, quietly asking for help, and he spoke across the room, calm and at ease. “It started one morning last month, I think? Anakin was stretching, practicing arabesques in his living room and as I walked by I took his hand and turned him. And he said something like, ‘Oh, look, you touched me while I was dancing so now you have to dance with me.’ And I told him fine but we could only add a step per day because I’m such a slow learner. And that eventually if it made it into one of my productions it would not be me dancing with him.”

Ben shrugged, gaze drifting over to Anakin and full of affection. “I only said it because I was sure he’d forget, but the next morning at my place, we were finishing up a lazy breakfast on the sofa when he stood and smiled and extended into the same pose.”

Satine nodded to Anakin with a grin of approval as Padme gave him a thumbs up. He ran his hand through his hair, a faint pink on his cheeks, and bravely joined in. “So we’ve been kind of dancing what we have, as best as you can in an apartment, and then adding a few steps a day. It’s kind of a morning or evening ritual now for us, I guess. I like it.”

“Anyway,” Anakin continued, scrubbing his hand through his hair again, “Uh, we do a proper run-through whenever we can steal an empty studio really early or really late in the day when no one’s around. We ended up deciding to base it on a favorite poem of mine…” He trailed off, walking over to dig in his bag by the door and pull out the battered notebook to bring back to them. “I wrote it down at the top of the page here.”

Satine took it and read aloud quietly, her voice a soft, elegant addition to the words. “‘Devotion. The heart can think of no devotion/Greater than being shore to the ocean/Holding the curve of one position/Counting an endless repetition.’ That is lovely, Anakin.”

“Thank you,” he smiled a little shyly, clasping his hands behind his back as Padme peeked over from her seat and smiled at the mix of their handwriting.

“So both of you took turns adding steps.”

“Yeah, except for the parts in the middle where we’re dancing our own variations. I wrote mine and he wrote his. So we wrote the beginning adagio together, and I wrote my variation for my style on my own. We were thinking I’m the ocean. Ben did the same for his, with him being the shore, and we wrote the coda at the end together.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see,” Padme said as Satine agreed, and Ben waited for Anakin to step over to the side to indicate he was offstage before he started the music.

The soft, quiet strains of a flute filled the room, and Anakin entered the middle of the room in a soft traveling jump of a jeté battu to land in a coupé, movement bright and happy despite the black he wore. As he came to a stop and extended out into a perfect arabesque, Ben entered from the other side of the imaginary stage, a grey ghost sliding past Anakin and taking his hand to turn him in place before gliding away. Fascinated, Anakin did a pirouette and followed him, matching his careful, precise steps with playful ones of his own.

They came together and danced apart, curious and slow movements, Anakin’s hand once sliding along Ben’s chest as they fell into mirrored arabesques against each other, Ben’s trailing down his arm as he slipped past him another time.

Both characters became more and more intrigued, the time they spent apart less and less before coming back together in slow, loving steps, and with a short, final lift Anakin set Ben down and regarded him with utter adoration, only to kneel and watch with hands gracefully extended in longing as Ben disappeared back off-stage in a backward glide.

The music shifting to a prouder, bolder tone, Anakin stood and gave the audience a wide, smitten smile, one that was easy to read: he would impress the object of his affection by showing off.

Padme was beaming as he launched into his variation: Anakin was so clearly in his element here, his solo a vibrant, beautiful collection of leaps and flourishes, energetic and powerful as the waves that had inspired his character. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she whispered to Satine as they watched him finish and Ben strutted out in quick, confident steps of a faille assemblé as Anakin drifted back out of sight. “He’s just been dancing so well since he met Ben, but this is even better.”

Satine patted her hand and squeezed it as she whispered back. “I can imagine. Ben dancing at all has made me so happy, even if no one else will get to see it in the end.”

“He’s good, Satine,” Padme said as Ben leapt into the careful spin of a double saut de basque to land with only the slightest bit of wobble. “Somehow I don’t believe him when he says he’s a slow learner.”

Satine gave a snort and rolled her eyes in fond annoyance, keeping her voice low as they both watched Ben arch his back and drop into the elegant lines of another arabesque before whirling away to make his way around the stage in sharp turns and spins to the strong, sparkling lines of piano notes. “What Ben apparently hasn’t told either of you is one of the reasons he got so many understudy roles was because he could watch a solo or a pas de deux twice, maybe three times, and be able to do his part almost perfectly from memory. When he told me he was going to dance that Des Grieux solo for Anakin’s birthday I wasn’t surprised, if I am being perfectly honest. It probably only took him an afternoon or two of running through it to bring it back for him.”

“Wow,” Padme murmured in amazement as Ben retreated off the stage, and Anakin returned in a skipping line of jetes, swirling about the stage as his character searched for the other.

He stopped with a pirouette en dehors, turning in place and landing in the elegant crossed lines of fourth position, chest heaving and closing his eyes as he rested from his pursuit, and Ben quietly danced out behind him, returning in light, quick steps to lay a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. Anakin’s eyes opened wide in delight and he let Ben pull him around.

The two spun apart and then together again and again, their distinct styles blending in affectionate touches and firm holds, Anakin swinging Ben low and back up again, Ben turning Anakin in place as he playfully strode around him. They were in complete harmony, each more arresting for the contrast of the other.

When the last happy notes faded and they were in their final poses, Anakin breathless on his knees looking up at Ben, Ben’s head tilted fondly and his hand on Anakin’s cheek as he knelt down panting next to him, both women broke out into instant applause.

The two men stood up, a little dazed, so into the dance it took them a moment to realize where they were and who was clapping.

“So you liked it?” Anakin asked hopefully as Ben went over to turn off the music and unplug his phone.

“Yes. Dear God, yes,” Padme said, looking to Satine, who nodded enthusiastically as well. “You two were amazing!”

“Well, he was amazing,” Ben smiled, coming back over to drop his phone atop his bag. “Thank you, though. Satine?”

“Brilliant. I am so proud of you both. I can tell you dance that every day. You made it look so effortless,” she told him, standing to hug him and Anakin.

“So you think it’ll work? I was thinking of making it the third piece in that one I’m working on now,” Ben asked as the women put their chairs back and he and Anakin slowly got their breath back.

“If you don’t include it I will never forgive you,” Satine declared, poking him gently in the chest before hugging him again. “You looked incredible,” she whispered into his warm chest. “Really, Obi, you did.”

“Thank you,” he murmured as he hugged her back.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed in the usual busy rush for Ben as he bounced back and forth between studios and his office, attending rehearsals for two of his productions and sitting down when he could at his desk to continue planning out a third, one of his last as guest choreographer. Anakin was not involved in the two currently coming together, no roles Ben had felt really worked for him available in either one, and as Ben made notes on the third he paused, recalling what dates he had scribbled down on the calendar behind his desk.

Turning to look at it, he felt a small pang of unease at the sharp letters written at the bottom of the calendar where the next two months were printed in tiny numbers. This third production, the one the new pas de deux would be a part of, was scheduled to come out in early November the way the dates had worked out. _And then my contract is up, at the end of November._

Frowning at the neat little boxes, he turned his chair back around to his desk with a loud creak and put it out of his mind with a quick reminder to himself that it was still September. Barely, but it was. _There is too much going on right now to worry about that. About Anakin and I._

He easily fell back into work, planning out a complicated sequence for the small group of corps dancers he planned to highlight, and before he knew it it was a half hour later when his phone went off, the alarm he’d preset a gentle chime in the quiet of the little room. _Meeting with Mundi and Windu_ , the notification reminded him, and he walked out and down through the maze of narrow halls until he came to the Artistic Director’s office with his laptop and notebook tucked under his arm.

Ben liked Mace, the at times blunt Artistic Director who was never afraid to let him know what he thought, and he got along well with Kiadi the ballet master.

So when he tapped the closed door and heard Mace’s call to come in, it took some effort to keep the friendly smile on his face when he stepped in to find Mace’s arms folded and Kiadi’s back straight as he waved a greeting to him. “Close the door, please,” Mace requested, and Ben did, the coolness of Mace’s tone not escaping him.

Sinking into one of two chairs facing Mace’s desk, Kiadi in the other, Ben looked back and forth between them, puzzled. “Gentlemen? I thought we were meeting to discuss casting for my third production?”

“We are. And a few other things,” Kiadi sighed, rubbing his head as if he had no desire for this conversation to go on any further despite what he was saying. The room was larger than Ben’s office by quite a bit, but it suddenly felt claustrophobic. _No. This can’t be about--_

“Ben?” Mace shifted in his seat behind the neat stacks of paperwork and books atop his desk, arms still folded. “You told us Skywalker was a good dancer. That he took instruction well.”

 _Oh no. No. Please._ “He does,” Ben said carefully, doing his best to look puzzled even as his heart began to pound and his hands tightened around the things he had brought with him.

“We take the advice of our choreographers very seriously when considering who to give roles to and who to move up.”

“Do you feel I gave bad advice?” _Maybe this is something else. It has to be something else._

Mace raised an eyebrow. “How much of that did you say because you’re dating him?”

The color drained out of Ben’s face, his breath fast behind it. “I…”

Kiadi turned to him and waved his hand in a resigned, disappointed way that cut worse than a loud shout would have. “Ben. Don’t. Just don’t. One of the dancers found out last week. Ran across you two, I suppose, and sent us a photo of you two holding hands in the Met when I imagine you thought no one was looking. She said if we didn’t do something about it she’d tell the whole company.”

Mace gave a snort. “Of course, what she doesn't realize is that her threatening us like that means she will never, ever make soloist and might not even be rehired next year. But she is not the only one in the wrong here, Ben. Because what she is angry about gets to the heart of the matter here.”

Ben swallowed, or tried to, as Mace fixed him with an icy glare. “I don’t know how things work at the Royal Ballet, but we do not trade sex for roles here. And let me tell you why that--”

Anger boiled up, sudden and bright, from the wave of embarrassment and shame rushing through him and bringing a deep flush to his face. “I did no such thing, Mace.”

“Do not interrupt me.”

Ben sat up straight but remained silent, almost unable to hear him through the pounding of blood in his ears.

Steepling his fingers, Mace gave a heavy sigh. “Jealousy is an ugly thing in any competitive world, and it can poison an entire company if even just a few dancers think another one is getting favors for any reason. We work hard here to avoid that, and I will not have you come in for a year, ruin it, and then saunter out to let us deal with dancers who don’t trust each other and rumors flying about any future choreographers that come in. Whether you have given Anakin roles because you’re sleeping with him or not, there is no way to avoid the appearance that you have. And that is a damn shame because we were planning on moving him up to principal and giving him Prince Siegfried in Swan Lake next January.”

Ben’s furious indignation fell away as quickly as it had come, leaving only a hollow, awful numbness inside of Ben as Mace’s words played once and then again in his mind. _We were-- were, not are-- were planning on moving him up..._

Kiadi turned to Ben, regarding him with such disdain Ben felt the shame inside him deepen so much he couldn’t meet his gaze any longer. He dropped his eyes to the floor, mortified, as Kiadi continued where Mace had left off. “We’ve discussed it with the directors and you have done an excellent job otherwise in your time here. So here is what we will offer. You two break it off until after your contract is up, and you do not cast him in any future roles in your remaining productions while you are here.”

“And Anakin?” he managed to say, throat dry.

“He will still be given Siegfried, and based on our own observations of him in that role we will make a final decision on whether or not we will offer him a principal position in the spring.”

 _You stole his chance at being a principal, you fucking idiot_ , Ben thought distantly. _Now it’s a maybe that he’ll get to be one. Because of you._

“But,” Mace said, leaning back in his chair but tone no less serious, “if there is any hint of a continued relationship while you are still employed with us, we will not risk the goodwill and trust of our dancers any further. At that time we may be forced to reconsider Skywalker’s employment with the company and any endorsement we give of you to future employers.”

Ben nodded mutely, surprised his body could still move. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but wish himself out of existence. _What have I done, Anakin? Oh, God. I am so sorry!_ “Have… have you spoken to Anakin about this?”

“No. We thought about it, but we are not calling in Skywalker because he didn’t do anything wrong,” Kiadi replied, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. “We have a responsibility as choreographers, Ben, to our dancers. To teach them and help them grow. You knew better and you still took advantage of a young, naive dancer, whether you intended to or not.”

Mace stood in the rough squeal of chair legs pushing back, indicating the meeting was over. Ben barely noticed, each of Kiadi’s words lead weights sinking down into him so heavily he could hardly stand himself.

“You made this mistake. You fix it. Now,” Mace said with a deep sigh, setting a heavy planner off to the side of his desk, “We’ll talk casting tomorrow, I think. Go ahead and go home for today. I know he’s off today. Talk to him and get it sorted out before work tomorrow. Believe me, Ben, neither I nor Kiadi wanted to have this conversation with you but you left us no choice.”

Ben opened his mouth and closed it, turning to go, but when his hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob and he realized this was his last chance to say anything he looked back, words rushing out. “Please don’t blame Anakin for this. All he wants is to dance for you.”

“We don’t, and we know,” Mace said, impassive gaze cold on Ben and Kiadi’s sage nod leaving no question as to who he and the company blamed.

Ben slunk out to begin a long, painful walk down to his office and then back out to hail a taxi to Anakin’s apartment. It took every bit of willpower he had to keep his hands from shaking as he passed dancers in the halls, returning friendly, nodded greetings with perfunctory ones of his own and wondering with black, vile bitterness which one of the ballerinas had run to Mace about him and Anakin.

_It doesn’t matter, Ben. You did this yourself, you selfish piece of shit. You should have told him no. And now he might not ever make principal because you couldn’t fucking keep away from him like you knew you fucking should have._

That thought was the only one that stayed constant in Ben’s mind, there as he dropped off his laptop and notebooks in the office, there as he slid into the back of a taxi blaring with pop music, and there as he got out in front of Anakin’s building, staring up at the warm light and cracked window of Anakin’s apartment with such a sense of painful, empty unreality he got lost in the soft orange glow of the panes for several long minutes before his body took over and carried him automatically inside and up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Anakin sat on his cheap sofa with Are Too curled up in his lap, a muted drama flashing in quick shots across his TV and fingers frozen mid-stroke across the cat's white fur as he heard Ben say something he couldn’t understand, couldn’t fathom no matter how slowly Ben repeated in that strange, broken tone he had never heard from him before.

“They know about us, Anakin.”

Anakin blinked, taking in the slump of Ben’s shoulders and the utter, complete despair on his face. “Who?”

“The company.”

Anakin gently nudged Are Too off his lap as he stood to walk over to Ben, bringing his hands up to slide over Ben’s shoulders and rub them as he processed what Ben had said. Anger bristled at the idea they had been found out, that they were being scolded like little kids and he shrugged, trying to laugh it off. “So what? It’s not like it’s illegal.”

Ben closed his eyes, not touching Anakin, and Anakin’s frown deepened at his answer. “They can decide who to hire and who to fire, Anakin. They want us to break up until after my contract ends. You… oh God, I am so sorry… they were going to make you a principal this winter season and give you Siegfried in Swan Lake next January but now depending on how you do on Siegfried they’ll move you up or they won’t and God, I am so sorry, Anakin, I am so sorry!” His words picked up speed the more he talked, tumbling out in abject shame and guilt until he opened his eyes to find Anakin staring at him in disbelieving horror.

“I have a chance to move up to principal, but only if we break up until after your contract?” Anakin tried to comprehend this, to take the vast, awful idea and understand it, but it was impossible and he could only stare in silence at Ben as Ben brought his hands up to rest over Anakin’s, trembling and cold.

“Yes. And, and… they said if we don’t break up they may have to ‘reconsider’ your employment with the company and any future references they give me.” Ben brought one hand up to his face, scrubbing one down along his beard and unable to look Anakin in the eye. “Will you still want me after my contract is up? After this?”

“Wait, you’re breaking up with me?” Anakin stood rooted to the spot, fingers tight on Ben’s shoulders, pressing through the stiff cotton of his white shirt.

“I, I have to, Anakin. For now. Unless you want us to end this for, for good, I suppose,” Ben said, hating the words and barely able to force them out. “What other way is there?”

The idea was wrong and hideous and yet there it was, hanging plain and ugly between them.

“Wait,” Anakin snapped, a blinding rage slamming into him out of nowhere at the hopeless resignation in Ben’s words, so fierce and violent he could barely breathe. “So that’s it? You think we can just break up for the next, what, two or three months and not be together and then get back together again like nothing happened and it’ll be ok? Just put this on hold?”

Ben glanced up at him, stunned at the ire in his voice as Anakin pushed him back and stalked over to the other side of the room to get away from him, Are Too running off to hide somewhere in the bedroom. “Anakin, we... we don’t have any other choice!”

Anakin’s fury burned as wild and strong as a fire through dry grass, unable to touch the company that had sparked it but finding an easy target right in front of him as long-forgotten doubts began to resurface. “You, you can’t turn off love! It’s not a switch, Ben!”

“I’m not, Anakin!” Ben retorted, his own wounds fresh and painful. “Do you think I want to do this?”

“Don’t you love me? How can you just stop loving someone for a while because someone else says so, huh?”

“Anakin!” Ben said, throwing his arms wide in exasperation and trying unsuccessfully not to shout. “Of course I do, dammit!”

Anakin strode back over to him, leaning in close, daring him to lie with him just a few inches away and his eyes bright with pain. “Then why did you never say it to me? I know I never said it to you but you never even asked if I did! I love you! I love you so much and it doesn’t matter, does it? You don’t love me!”

“How can you say that? That I don’t love you? This is for your own good, Anakin. It hurts so much I can hardly breathe but,” Ben grabbed Anakin’s arm as he started to pace back away, holding him in place, “but I will not have you risk your career on a stupid affair with someone old enough to know better! I am sorry! I never should have encouraged you!”

“No. No, that’s not what this is about,” Anakin sneered, jerking out of Ben’s grasp and facing him, so close he could see the fine, delicate sweep of Ben’s blond eyelashes. He hated how beautiful he was at that moment, more than anything in the world. “If you love me, then say it!”

“I can’t, not like this! I don’t want to say it like this! God, what is wrong with you?” he demanded, trying to grab Anakin’s arm again and being roughly shrugged off.

Anakin lifted his chin, deep in thoughts so dark it was surprising how little scratching it had taken to bring them to the surface. His voice came out cold and bitter, so unlike himself he barely recognized it. “I know. You’re just sorry you don’t get to fuck me anymore! That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all I am to people. A pretty dancer or a pretty piece of ass. I know that. You don’t think I do?”

Ben took a step back, so shocked it took him a second to respond. Anakin watched silently, miserable and convinced he was right by the delay. “Anakin! You… you are wonderful. You are smart and talented and you care so much about so many things. You are not just a piece of ass. How could you even say that?”

“Then why are you breaking up with me, huh?” Anakin shoved him, wanting to hit him, wanting to be hit.

Ben didn’t give any ground, but his shoulders tensed and Anakin saw a flash of anger that somehow made Ben look younger as he shouted back at him. “I am breaking up with you because I respect your future, Anakin. Your dreams. I don’t want yours to be lost like mine were! Because of some stupid, selfish man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself! I will not be like _him_. I will not be him in your life.”

There was no doubt who he meant, but Anakin was too lost in wounded pride and confused love to care. “What, you don’t want to hurt me as bad as that choreographer hurt you? Make me want to give up on everything? I fucking love you, Ben! Goddammit!” Passion surged up, a desperate need to show Ben what he felt, and he grabbed Ben’s shirt, pulling him in for a violent kiss Ben was too stunned to return. “I love you!” he whimpered against Ben’s lips, “I love you, I love you...”

Ben returned the kiss with a tender, pained one of his own, and Anakin, so happy to feel him kissing him back, so relieved at even the faintest promise that maybe this horrible nightmare of an evening could be turned around, took a second to realize Ben was sliding his hands up Anakin’s chest to gently push him back. “Anakin…” he whispered sadly.

“Say it. Say you’re breaking up with me. You can say that at least, right?” Anakin spat.

“I… I’m breaking up with you,” Ben said in such a faint, listless voice Anakin almost couldn’t hear him, grey-blue eyes narrowed in anguish.

Pure, burning rage swept through Anakin, leaving nothing but cinders and ash and the need to hurt Ben like Ben had hurt him smoldering like red-hot embers. Anakin opened his mouth and let the words fall, searing as they went: “So you did just want to fuck me. Hey, at least you got further than your choreographer did, right?”

Ben froze, body a rigid line, and just as Anakin began to understand from the depths of his fury what he had said, there was a heavy pounding on the front door behind them. “Hey, you two alright?” his neighbor Rex asked through it, low voice muffled and concerned.

Ben strode past Anakin wordlessly to fling the door open, struggling to find a way to speak through the ice that hung around him to address Rex and his twin brother Cody standing out in the hall, Cody looking past him to make sure Anakin was ok. “I… I am sorry for the noise. I was just leaving.”

And he did.

Anakin watched him go in stiff, long strides, unsure if he wanted to shove him down the stairs or run after him and beg his forgiveness as Ben slammed the door downstairs, leaving only an empty apartment behind and a deep, hollow ache inside Anakin he knew in his heart would never heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, before you get your pitchforks and voodoo dolls out I swear on my love of Nutella this story has a happy ending!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your support! I will update as usual in two weeks, probably plus a couple of days.


	10. Eden Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally don't do notes at the start of the chapter but given the reactions I got to the last one: I promise they are going to slowly mend and come back together after this challenge to their relationship, as per the happy ending I swore my girlfriend she would get for this since it's her present. Have faith in our boys! <3
> 
> I'm adding two more chapters to let the mending breathe and not feel rushed, which it might have been otherwise if I left it at the original chapter count.

Anakin stood frozen in the hallway, silent, heart and mind racing as the last echo of the door slamming downstairs faded away. _He’s leaving. He’s leaving and he’s never coming back._

A dozen memories flashed through Anakin’s mind: the scent of evergreens at the Organas’ Christmas party as Ben laughed at one of his jokes, the warmth of Ben’s leg against his as they sat together on a bus headed out to the Cloisters on a late spring morning, the feel of Ben’s hand gentle in his hair as they slept together with Anakin sprawled out over his chest, rain falling in a soft hum outside.

_Gone. It’s all gone._

Someone was speaking to him, and his brain parsed the words slowly and awkwardly as he turned in the direction of the sound, still lost in happier places and times.

“Skywalker. Skywalker,” Rex repeated, concern narrowing his brown eyes as he leaned in close to him. “Hey, you ok?”

 _No,_  Anakin wanted to say. _No._ But nothing would come out. If he spoke, then it would all become real. Just the thought of what he had said to Ben-- _the last thing I said to him--_ made him tremble with shame so heavy it crushed the breath out of his lungs.

_I compared him to his choreographer. To the man that tried to assault him. To the man that drove him away from dancing._

_Oh God. What have I done?_

He tried to speak again, but while his lips moved there was no sound, and he was dimly aware he was clenching his fists so hard at his sides his knuckles were probably turning white. New images, ideas came to Anakin’s mind, as horrible as they were appealing in the utter blackness of the moment: Anakin banging his head against a wall, raking his nails across himself to scrape it all away, climbing up onto the little window of his apartment and jumping. _Not high enough,_ he thought to himself with a bitter, choking laugh. _Higher. The roof._

_I will never get him back. Never._

Cody muttered something to his brother and stepped into Anakin’s apartment as Rex remained outside, the two spending enough time hanging out with him there was nothing odd about Cody going inside. Anakin distantly heard Are Too giving a cautious, curious meow and then Cody was back out in the hall with the cat curled in one muscular arm and Anakin’s cell in his other hand.

Rex gestured to Anakin’s phone as Cody held it out. “Do you want to call anyone?”

Anakin blinked at them, and shook his head as he took it and tucked it into his jeans pocket with a clumsy shove before he ran his hand through his hair. What would Padme say? _Oh God, what is Satine going to say?_

_I hurt him. I love him and I hurt him. He’ll hate me. He’ll never smile at me again._

_What have I done? What have I done?_

_Oh, God, I’ll never be able to undo this. Ever. I am a piece of shit. A piece of shit and I deserve to--_

“So who fucked up here?” Cody asked with a gruff frown, ignoring the surprised glare Rex shot him and his casual question cutting through Anakin’s bleak thoughts like a knife. “You or your boyfriend?”

The darkness crowding in around Anakin fell back momentarily at the shockingly direct question.

“I… I did. I fucked up pretty bad,” Anakin whispered, willing himself not to cry, willing himself to keep the tears in until he could scream them into his bed, try in vain to scream away all of the hurt surging up inside him. Why were they still standing there, trading silent looks with each other? Why weren’t they going away?

 _I fucked up and now I’ve lost him. He is so perfect and I was so fucking stupid and I said that horrible thing and I can’t take it back and he’ll hate me forever now._ “Look, I’ll be fine. I’m, I’m sorry for the noise,” he lied, hoping they would believe him and that they wouldn’t see what an awful person he was.

“No problem,” Cody answered nonchalantly as Rex leaned in Anakin’s doorway, blocking Anakin’s path back into his apartment. “But before you turn in you have to have a shot of I Fucked Up Vodka. Isn’t that right, Are Too?” he asked the cat blinking up at him.

Anakin tilted his head, for the second time in as many minutes trying to sort out the words he was hearing. “I don’t understand. ‘I… I Fucked Up Vodka?’”

“Fett family tradition,” Rex nodded sagely, closing Anakin’s door and pointing toward their own, Anakin too confused to protest. “What, we’ve never told you about this?”

“No.” The three of them took the very short walk to the next door in the hallway, Cody falling in behind Anakin as they passed through inside and shutting the door behind him.

The apartment was the same mix of sports equipment and posters it always was, Cody dropping Are Too on a large sofa in front of a muted rugby game playing on the big-screen TV.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, guys,” Anakin said, somehow feeling worse than he already did. The twins never missed an All Blacks’ game, the time difference between New York and New Zealand making matches a late evening affair. _I’m just screwing everything up tonight like the piece of shit I am._

“Oh, it’s an ol-” Rex started to say, but Cody cut him off.

“Well, that’s two fuck ups, Skywalker. Two drinks for you.”

“Ok, what is the deal with that?” Anakin snapped in a moment of fury that came and went almost instantly as he sank down onto the sofa. Are Too immediately crawled into his lap, purring as loudly as he could and a warm counterweight to the raw emotions swirling deep inside him. “You guys are sports trainers. Why are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked, suddenly exhausted, too weary and in shock too deep to feel anything other than numb exasperation.

Cody gave a nod and Rex disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a half-empty bottle of vodka of a brand Anakin didn’t recognize and three glasses.

Cody folded his arms and cleared his throat with the seriousness of a man about to give a speech. “No one wants to admit it when they fuck up. Sure, they say they did, but they don’t want to actually talk about it.”

“Hardout, bro,” Rex said with a salute of the bottle as if Cody were a pastor at a church, sitting down on the sofa next to Anakin and lining up the three glasses in front of them.

“And not talking about it makes it worse and you get angrier and angrier and then you get in a fist fight over something else that isn’t even connected to your fuck up and get yourself banned from the holy land that is Eden Park,” Cody finished in the reverent way that suggested this was an old family story, told so many times it had taken on the faint sheen of legend.

_What in the hell is he talking about?_

His own problems completely forgotten for a moment, Anakin wondered where Eden Park was, feeling like he was living some bizarre sort of dream as Cody poured them each a shot and sat down on the other side of Anakin. “You can sit and watch the match with us, and when you feel like it we’ll all take a shot or two and you can tell us what happened with your boyfriend. Or you call someone and tell them what happened. But until then you’re stuck with us, Skywalker.”

It all came back in a rush that left him cold, wondering how he could live with his heart constricting so hard in his chest it almost hurt to breathe.

_‘My boyfriend’. Not anymore._

“I don’t want to talk about it. Look, I’m going home,” he said in a hoarse whisper, shifting to stand up only to find Rex’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back down.

“You’re interrupting the game.”

Anakin opened his mouth and closed it again at a firm look from Cody as Rex unmuted the TV and the excited shouts of the announcers filled the room. The will to argue, the spark of anger that they were blocking him in like this, flickered out as suddenly as it had come, doused by confused tears of gratitude and shame that swelled up as he realized they were worried about him, worried enough to keep him from leaving.

_You don’t know how horrible I am, guys. If you did you’d kick me out and lock the door._

But he didn’t try to leave again, sinking down into a bleak silence and unable to piece any sort of coherent thought together beyond how soft Are Too’s fur was and how much he hurt in every part of himself.

For the next hour he sat quietly between the two burly men, the warm weight of his cat in his lap and Cody and Rex casually discussing the game as if Anakin had just wandered over as he sometimes did. They didn’t ask him anything further, not even when he finally, subtly dried his tears and gave a long, weary sigh.

His heart ached so badly he wondered how anything would ever be all right again, but he slowly reached for his glass and Cody muted the match without a word as Anakin swallowed his first shot, the two brothers downing their own in a show of support.

“I… Can I call my friend Padme?” he asked, coughing at the bitter taste. “Jesus, this stuff tastes like shit.”

Rex lifted his eyebrows and shrugged as he poured his second shot. “The ballerina, right? Sure, anyone you want. You can call her from the kitchen. Reception’s best in there. And I Fucked Up Vodka isn’t supposed to taste good. Don’t want to acquire a habit of it.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Anakin muttered to himself, eyes watering as he downed his second glass. The alcohol spread through him in a warm wave, sharp and clear, and he looked down at his phone and hesitated. “Fuck, if I had to drink as much as I fuck up I’d die of alcohol poisoning in a day.” _God, I don't want to call Padme, and have to say it to her._

“So what happened?” Cody asked quietly, watching Anakin fidget with his phone and shift to tuck it back into his pocket with a heavy sigh. _And she’ll ask so many questions and Sabe will too and I don't-- I can’t right now._  

“I just--” Anakin struggled to find the right words: none seemed big enough, or important enough, to sum up the raw, absolute sense of loss knifing through him. “I just pissed away the best relationship I’ve ever had in my whole goddamn life.”

The twins nodded supportively as he burst into tears and Are Too hopped down to hide under the soda, startled by the noise.

“Eden Park?” Rex offered without any trace of mockery, only deep concern as he took Anakin’s glass out of his hand and set it back on the table.

“Eden goddamn Park,” Anakin cried, burying his face in his hands as Cody patted his back.

 

* * *

 

Ben sat on the sofa in the dark of his apartment, an open sketchbook forgotten in his lap as he stared up at the wall of his artwork. All of it was so familiar he didn’t need light to know what lay under the shadows draping each piece, and his eyes drifted listlessly from one picture to another as the clock out in the hallway ticked a hollow, empty beat. 

A bottle of whiskey sat unopened against his leg, a cool weight providing an anchor to the world that seemed so far away, and he tried to understand yet again how things had come to this point as his hand traced idly along the edge of the sketchbook. 

He glanced over to reread and try to grasp the short, terse text he himself had written, its neat little blue box glowing on the cell phone that sat on the other side of him from the whiskey, and Satine’s reply underneath it.

The words were alien and incomprehensible, and yet there they sat in sharp, unforgiving pixels. 

_company found out_

_we broke up_

 

_what??? i am so sorry_

_had a performance_

_just got out will be there soon_

_are you at home_

 

_yes_

And true to her word, she had come as quick as she could. Ben had just completed his first round of examining each illustration, attempting to recall the rich sights that had inspired each piece as a distraction from the painfully empty room he sat in. _Vancouver, five years ago, the mountains. Sydney, three years ago, the harbor bridge,_ he was thinking when his doorbell rang with the chime from the entry on the first floor.

Closing the sketchbook and sitting it aside slowly, he went to buzz Satine up and left the front door open, walking back to sit on the sofa. It just seemed like too much work to have to get up and go back to the door to let her in when he had just been there.

Moving the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him, Ben tried to remember how old he had been when he had done the only drawing that wasn’t a landscape, the sketch of his open hand hanging near the middle of the carefully arranged frames. _When I was in the corps._  

The soft whisper of a coat being taken off and hung up, gentle as leaves rustling in the fall breeze outside, sounded from the hallway as the door creaked shut and he heard the lock turn. Satine called out, her footsteps coming down toward the living room. “Ben? Obi?”

“In here,” he answered back quietly, lost in examining the ink lines of the hand half-hidden in shadow. _Before_ him. _That’s right. Before I left._ _That’s when I drew that._

“Oh, Obi…” he heard Satine whisper, and a hand slid onto his shoulder. He closed his eyes as her arms soon followed, Satine hugging him fiercely from behind and resting her cheek against his bearded one. Neither spoke, her sweat and hairspray a familiar, welcome scent, and Ben brought his hands up to rest over her arms as he looked up at the wall.

“I… it’s over.” Why was his voice so flat? That wasn’t how he should sound, he told himself. He should be crying, or shouting. And yet all there was was a void, empty and black, so powerful all of his feelings had vanished into it.

“What happened?” Satine murmured, an elegant shade standing back up to come around and sit on the sofa with him. She reached around a stack of hardback books on the end table first to get to the lamp, and with a click the room filled with a warm, yellow glow, revealing features sharply defined with the exaggerated eyes and lips of stage makeup.

She looked beautiful, Ben thought aimlessly, even in her sweats. She always did, calm and regal and with an air of sophistication he had admired since they were young together. _And here she is, staring at you like you’ve got two heads. You must look a mess._  

Satine didn’t repeat herself, reaching over to take his hand instead, squeezing it in an unspoken question.

“The company found out.” He said it aloud and felt nothing tremble in the barren space inside himself. “They told us we had to break it off and that I couldn’t cast him in any of my productions for the rest of my contract.” Nothing stirred, his heart dead as a winter night.

He pushed ahead, swallowing and licking his lips as his throat began to dry up. “They were going to make him a principal, Satine. Now they’re back to thinking about it.”

“Oh, no,” she said in disbelief, fingers tightening in his. “That’s, that’s horrible.”

“So I went to tell Anakin. At his apartment. That we had to break up. There was nothing else we could do.” Every word was hard to say now, like Ben was swallowing sand, and he dropped his gaze down to his lap. “We got… we got into a fight. I told him it was just until my contract was up. Didn’t I? I think I did…”

Satine pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him, her slender form tiny and warm against his. 

He didn’t resist, stiffly managing to hug her back only by reminding himself to do it, and whispered into her hair what he couldn’t bring himself to say any louder. “He got angry, Satine. I’ve never seen him so angry. He hates me for what I did. He… he said I wasn’t any better of a choreographer than _him._ That, that…”

The tears came, bitter and silent, and with them the first emotion he had clearly felt in hours: an awful guilt mingled with despair so black he could barely speak. “At least I did better than _he_ did because I got to fuck Anakin.”

Satine froze, the soothing arc of her hand up and down his back sliding to a halt just under his shoulder blades. “He said what?”

“He’s right, Satine.” Ben sat back, leaving his hands in hers as he tried to blink away tears in a careful study of the ceiling. “He’s right. I am a horrible person. He deserves to hate me.”

“No. Ben, that’s not true.” She pulled back, her stunned expression made more so by the heavy eyeliner she still wore from her performance. “You were not using him. At all!”

“I am selfish and I almost ruined his career, Satine.” He looked back at her, and then away again, thinking the hard set of her jaw was meant for him. “I’m a selfish bastard.”

“No. You are not.”

His gaze whipped back to her, startled by the harshness of her words and even more so by the fury blazing in her eyes.

“Ben, do not _ever_ say that about yourself. Ever!” Satine grabbed her oversize purse from the floor where she had set it down and began to violently rummage around inside.

“What, what are you doing?” he said, absently wiping at his eyes in a vain attempt to stop crying, confused.

“I am looking for my phone. Because I am going to call that selfish, greedy little prat and he is going to come over right now and get on his worthless little knees and beg for you to forgive him! And then, and then we’ll throw him right back out,” she declared with a fire Ben hadn’t seen in years, tossing keys and a make-up bag and a water bottle out on the sofa behind her in her search for her cell. “I, I can’t believe he said that! That is bullshit, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I will not stand for it coming from him or you!”

“No, no, Satine--” Ben started, reaching out for her, heart twisting at someone else he loved upset because of him.

“No, you’re right.” She stood up, not seeing him as she leaned back over to toss everything back into her purse. “I’ll go to his apartment. I’ll drag him here myself.”

“Satine,” he whispered, voice cracking, and she looked up, momentarily startled out of her rage to find him holding trembling arms out to her. “Please… please?”

“Oh, Obi,” she whispered, sinking back down and dropping her purse aside to hug him once again, leaning in close and rocking him back and forth in the warm light of the lamp, their shadows long and dark across the floor. “That stupid, stupid boy…”

“I love him. I love him so much and I never told him,” Ben cried, folding into her as best he could, trying to escape the awful memory of earlier that evening as he finally found his voice. He let out a long, shallow sigh, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“How can you still love such a stupid boy?” she asked in bewilderment, stroking his hair, trying not to cry herself. _This is horrible. All of it. How could they ask him to do this? How could Anakin say that? What is wrong with him, blaming anyone but the company for this?_

“Maybe I’m stupid too,” he whispered, knowing from the vicious, jagged edge of his hurt that Anakin’s words would haunt him for a long time. _I love him_ , he thought, for a second imagining his next job, in some unknown locale far from here, an empty space next to him where Anakin had once been. _But that’s how it should be. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve to be happy with him._ “It’s my fault this happened, Satine.”

He cried harder as Satine stroked his back and hair and whispered quietly to him that he was not what Anakin had said, trying to bank her own hot anger with Anakin and frustration with Ben into something softer and warmer that would help calm him. _How can you believe this about yourself? How can you blame yourself at all for any of this?_  

It took another hour of comforting whispers and touches, but Satine finally managed to get Ben calm enough he drifted off with his head in her lap, curled into the cushions as she stroked his hair and the exhausted line of his shoulders.  

_Oh, I love you, Obi, but you are being just as stupid as Anakin is._

Weary and emotionally wrung out herself at the shock of it all and the sight of her dear friend like this, Satine waited until Ben was fully asleep to fish her own phone out and text Padme, making sure it was on silent so the buttons wouldn’t make any sound.

_we need to talk_

The answer came back almost immediately, a little blue cloud drifting up under her message.

_i know_

_just found out a little bit ago_

_is ben ok_

_anakin is a wreck_

_this is all so dumb!!!_

Satine gave a fond, tired smile to the phone at the mirroring of her own words. _I knew Padme would have some sense at least._ She typed her reply one-handed, her other settled in the fine locks of Ben’s hair.

_yes!!!_

_same here_

_i’m off until late afternoon tomorrow. lunch at the usual? le pain quo near your apartment?_

When they had settled on a time, Satine tucked the phone back into her purse down on the floor and nudged Ben, murmuring with a tenderness borne of long years of friendship and wondering if Padme was doing the same for Anakin at that moment. “Come on, time for bed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I always say, because I am always grateful, thank you for all of your comments (even the pitchfork ones ;) ) and your support! <3 
> 
> I will try to catch up on them but work has gotten busy lately, so apologies if it takes me a while.
> 
> The next update will be in two weeks plus a few days, most likely.


	11. Fragile

Almost three weeks later, Anakin sat alone on a bench in Central Park beneath a slate sky, long legs stretched out and hands curled nervously in his coat pockets. Clouds hung low overhead and rain swept in from the horizon, cloaking skyscraper after skyscraper on its way to him and the park. It was beautiful in a way, the harsh lines of man made soft and ethereal in the downpour, and he watched silently as it advanced in a low rumble and the distinct, light scent of an autumn storm.

People began to scatter from the path in front of him or toss up umbrellas in quick snaps of color as they hurried by, and he eventually reached down to pick up and open a large black one Padme had let him borrow on his way out to lunch from the studios. _I have another 45 minutes or so before I have to go back. Might as well get comfortable._

The first drops reached him and he looked around, patting the top pocket of his black coat to reassure himself the small lump inside was still there. _I am not leaving until Ben comes_ , Anakin told himself despite the heavy lump in his throat, eyes flicking from one face to another as the steady stream of pedestrians began to dwindle in the growing rain.

He straightened up, folded his legs back in under the cover of his umbrella, and tried to focus on a mental run-through of one of his parts, a tricky set of steps he needed to work on while the storm beat down against his umbrella.  

Everything around him became as ghostly as the skyscrapers now almost impossible to see in the distance beyond the park’s treeline, the few passersby left huddled under their own umbrellas or raincoats and splashing by in quick, brisk steps through puddles.

Anakin was mentally dancing through the part for the seventh time when he happened to notice someone coming down the empty sidewalk toward him.

_Ben._

His heart stopped at the graceful form emerging from the grey shadows of the downpour one detail at a time: the gloved hand that held the dark umbrella, the stylish coat that the man wore open to the cool fall weather, the auburn hair bright against the drab colors of the afternoon.

And eyes the color of a winter sea as they met his, as full of tangled emotion as Anakin knew his own must be.

“Ben,” he said, swallowing. “Hello.”

“Hello, Anakin,” came the quiet answer as Ben came to a stop standing over him, the greeting almost inaudible against the rain pouring around them. 

It was the first time they had seen each other beyond quickly averted glances in the halls at work: now that they were no longer in any of the same productions it was frighteningly easy how they could pass an entire day or week without ever crossing paths. _Or three of them_ , Anakin recalled with bitter, anxious longing Ben’s lack of response to the apology texts he had sent half a dozen of before Padme stepped in, hearing about this from Satine in the unofficial communications line the two women had established.

Satine had advised through Padme that it was best to give Ben some space and time, and even though it hurt more than Anakin had thought possible, he had done that.

And now here Ben was, right in front of him.

 _I missed you_ , Anakin wanted to say, but he was afraid of what Ben might say to that, that Ben didn’t miss him at all, and so the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth was, “You need to start taking your meds again.”

Ben blinked down at him, grip tightening a little on the umbrella handle. “You need to start dancing to your level again.”

Anakin bit his lip, cutting off the urge to argue. _He has every right to be angry with me_ , he forced himself to admit through the quick flare of his temper. _I just haven’t had the heart to dance recen-- wait…_ “How do you know how I’ve been dancing?”

“I watch you sometimes. When I have a minute,” Ben said, lifting his chin and taking a deep breath as Anakin fixed him with his usual, intent gaze, knowing what Anakin saw: dark circles under his eyes, a definition to the cheekbones that hadn’t been there when Anakin had seen him last. To Satine or someone who saw him more days than not it might have been too subtle of a change to notice, but it sent Anakin’s stomach into a downward lurch.

“Ben… are you sleeping? And eating?”

He looked off to the side, tucking his free hand into his coat. “Not much. Despite Satine’s best efforts.”

Anakin gave a small, fragile smile at that. “Sounds like Padme.”

“They seem to be in cahoots,” Ben said, not returning the smile but no disapproval in his voice either. Just a deep, unshakable weariness Anakin remembered from his own insomnia at the beginning of the year.

“Padme made me spend a week at her place. Even let Are Too come over despite the fact he sheds all over her rugs.”

“Satine took up residence at my apartment for a while. Always claimed she was too lazy to go back to her own place after stopping in to check on me.”

Anakin reached up to his coat pocket and then let his hand slide away again as if he were just brushing something off. Once he gave the little bottle inside his pocket to Ben, Ben would leave, and he would be alone on the bench once again. _Forever._

Inhaling, trying not to think about what he was about to say, he met Ben’s gaze and spoke before he could stop himself. “I’m an asshole, Ben. There’s no other way to put it. And I can never make up for how I acted, and… and what I said, but I’m sorry.”

Dropping his head to stare at the scattered puddles marred by raindrops and the clean lines of Ben’s boots, Anakin felt small and worthless as he waited for the sharp, biting remark he knew he deserved, for the cold rejection that Ben had no doubt spent the last few weeks thinking of for this exact moment.

A long and painful silence followed, and just when the fear inside of him was starting to build into anger Ben murmured something that cut through the noise in his head and left him even more ashamed than before.

“It hurt, Anakin. Christ, did it hurt. It still does and I… I don’t know when it will stop.”

He looked back up at Ben, opening his mouth to apologize again, but Ben held up his hand and Anakin fell silent, the simple gesture achingly familiar from their time together as dancer and choreographer. In the studio it meant a pause, a moment while Ben collected his thoughts, and here it seemed to Anakin like he was waiting for the world to end, for Ben to say every awful thing Anakin knew it was his right to say.

“But I was selfish too.”

“What?”

“I never said it either.”

Anakin blinked up at him, puzzled, tilting his umbrella back to get a better look at Ben as if that would help what he said make sense, not noticing as some of the water dripping down the tines of his umbrella fell across his thighs. “Never said what?”

“That I loved you. All that time we were together, I never said it,” Ben shrugged, a dull ache clear in his tone.

“You…” _You think this is your fault?_ Anakin struggled to reply, to show Ben he was not in the wrong in any way in this horrible situation. “I never did, either. It’s… it’s ok,” he lied. It wasn’t ok, but Anakin was certain above all else he did not deserve for anything to be ok between them ever again.

“No, you did,” Ben sighed, giving the same weak smile Anakin had tried earlier. “On your birthday, when you said you loved ballet and me. I knew you meant it the moment you said it. And I, I was just too goddamn selfish to say it back.” He stared off, out into the storm. “If I said it back, that would be it. You would have all of me. And what if you decided to hurt me, once you had all of me? I’ve never given myself to anyone like that. Ever. I was so scared of being hurt that, that in the end I never said it at all.”

Shocked, Anakin gaped as Ben went on with a hollow grin and tilt of his head. “And look what happened anyway because of it.”

“Ben.” _It doesn’t have to be over. This isn’t your fault at all and I still love you. I love you so much_. “Do you think… well… do you think we still have a chance? At all?” Anakin watched Ben, heart tight in his chest, seeing nothing but him: the fine line of his lashes, the scarf bunched up at his throat against his pale skin.

“I miss you. God, I miss you,” Ben finally said, his voice as fragile and pained as the look in his eyes. “But I’m still so angry with you.”

“I know,” Anakin said, bowing his head as he stood up, the spark of hope brought about by Ben’s first words crushed by the last. “Here,” he muttered, the ice inside him making his movements stiff and awkward as he fumbled with the coat pocket flap. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I know you have to get lunch and go back. I do too. Here’s your medicine.”

He held the bottle out in a dry rattle of pills against plastic, careful to keep it under the cover of the umbrella, but Ben only studied it with an unreadable expression. _He knows it too. This is it. The last time we see each other,_ Anakin thought with a deep sadness.

Ben considered him and the bottle for a long moment before speaking. “Those… those aren’t my pills.”

“Yes, they are,” Anakin said, glancing down. Ben’s actual first name, which he had learned the first time he had seen one of these bottles back in the summer, lay visible between his fingers. _Obi-Wan._ “See?” he said, holding it up.

“No,” Ben said. “They’re not.”

He took a deep breath and pushed Anakin’s hand back with a surprising gentleness. Clearing his throat, hesitating as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say next, Ben spoke nervously to the bottle rather than Anakin. “But… you can bring me mine tonight. After work? My apartment?”

Anakin opened his mouth and closed it again as the questions and the meaning behind them sank in. “Sure,” he managed, and then Ben was gone with a quiet nod, walking in long strides away from him through the growing puddles that lay across the park paths.

Stunned, Anakin tucked the little orange bottle back in his coat, replaying what Ben had said once and then again in his mind. _His apartment?_

_We have a chance. Oh my God, we have a chance._

He was running before he knew it, sailing through the downpour with his umbrella bobbing along down the empty sidewalk, and caught up to Ben just as Ben passed into a damp, dark passage that wound under one of the park’s many bridges. Thanks to the weather, no one else was there or anywhere along this stretch of the path, and Anakin called out to him breathlessly. “Ben!”

Ben turned back, a black silhouette against an arch of grey light behind him, and then Anakin was against him, umbrella discarded on the concrete and his mouth pressed against Ben’s in a desperate, joyful kiss.

Surprised, Ben lowered his umbrella to the side in shock but then his free hand slipped around Anakin’s waist and he pulled him closer to return the kiss with a raw need of his own. 

The rain hummed all around them, falling harder and the tunnel growing darker, but there was only the beautiful warmth of Ben against him, his mouth on Anakin's in hungry, pent-up desire for what felt like a blissful eternity. Their two shadows twined in heat and need in defiance of the cold, lonely world outside and all of the problems that it held for them.

“Tonight,” Ben said in a fragile whisper when the kiss was over, their foreheads touching as they stood leaned together, hands tangled in each other’s coats and trying to catch their breath. “We’ll talk tonight.”

Anakin nodded, his lips still warm from Ben’s and almost trembling as Ben gave him one more soft kiss on his cheek before disappearing back out into the rain.

When Anakin returned to the center, forgetting to eat entirely but too happy to care, he danced so well Padme darted over to her bag on break and sent a quick text to Satine with a relieved smile on her face.

_i think the little meet up in the park went well! good idea to have anakin take ben his stuff instead of bringing it in_

A little heart was waiting for her when she finished that production’s rehearsal and took another break, gulping water as she read Satine’s reply.

_thanks_

_there’s hope for our stupid boys yet, i think!!!_

_ben just canceled our movie night at his place tonight_

_very politely but he did_  

Padme let out a long, thankful sigh and sent a few hearts back while she waved a friendly hello to Anakin, who was hurrying past to go get ready for his first performance of the day with a huge grin on his face. _i’ll leave anakin alone tonight too then._

 

* * *

 

 _I can’t screw this up. I won’t screw this up._ Anakin’s legs ached as he walked down the hall toward Ben’s apartment, a long day and night of dancing always wearing him out, but he didn’t care, too focused on the simple door waiting for him ahead.

The remainder of the day after their meeting in the park had passed by in a blur of dancing, no real time to think about the brief, beautiful kiss they had shared and everything that could mean. Restless hope propelled Anakin forward until the final curtain had gone down and he had found himself sitting in a chair in front of one of the dressing room mirrors, scrubbing his make-up off and suddenly terrified. _What am I going to say? What is he going to say?_

The walk to the train and the ride to Ben’s apartment had been those two questions, circling over and over again in Anakin’s mind against the harsh lighting of the station and the darkness of the streets.

And now here he was, still with no better idea of what to say or do than he had sitting in front of that mirror with the other dancers talking and laughing around him.

He came to a stop in front of the door and ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the lapels of his coat and biting his lip as he unbuttoned it and then buttoned it back up again. _I shouldn’t look too comfortable, like I think everything is ok._

_I know it’s not._

_But I don’t want him to think I’m angry, either…_ and then the door was opening, swinging open slowly to reveal Ben and cutting off any further worrying about his appearance.

“Hello.” Ben greeted Anakin with a guarded nod, seeming as tired as Anakin felt.

“Hi,” Anakin said with a faint, hopeful smile, and Ben stood aside to let him in without returning it. There was a faint hum of music from down the hallway in the living room, and Anakin’s heart twinged: more than a few quiet, comfortable nights had passed between them with Anakin tinkering with his robot kits on the floor while Ben sat on the sofa and listened to songs for his productions, scribbling notes and occasionally asking Anakin’s advice.

“I brought your medicine,” Anakin offered, taking his coat off and digging out the little bottle. It clicked against his hand as he held it up, and Ben nodded his thanks as he took it.

“Thank you.”

“You,” Anakin paused, but he had to say it. “You promise you’ll start taking it again? I mean, I would have said something sooner but I… I thought the bottle you had at my apartment was just the extras.”

Ben sighed and took Anakin’s coat, hanging it up and speaking to the folds of black wool rather than him. “Yes, I promise. Satine will murder me if I don’t.”

“Before or after she murders me?” Anakin asked only half-jokingly.

This got a dry chuckle as Ben turned back to him, and he reached up to stroke Anakin’s cheek, eyes soft for a moment. _I wonder if he’s remembering nights like this too._ “You missed a bit of eyeliner,” he said with a trace of affection. “You’re never any good at getting it all off.”

“Did I at least miss it on both sides?”

Ben glanced from eye to eye, his hand resting on Anakin’s face, but the strained air between them remained. “Yes, actually.”

Anakin gave a little shrug, unsure of what to say, and shifted back and forth on his feet, trying to relieve some of the pain throbbing along his calves.

Ben looked down and back up. “How bad are your legs?”

“They’ve been better,” Anakin said, afraid of sounding like he was complaining and attempting to relax, to stand up straighter and looser.

“Now you sound like me. Come on.” He led Anakin into the kitchen and pointed to the top cabinet on his way to the refrigerator, stifling a yawn. “The tub is up there.”

Anakin said nothing, lifting up on his toes with a wince to open one of the top cabinets that lined the kitchen wall. The plastic tub was a simple thing he used to make ice baths for his feet after performances, its twin at his own apartment, and neither he nor Ben commented on the fact it had been moved from its previous, more convenient place under the sink.

Taking it down, Anakin tried not to think about the import of such a simple action on Ben’s part and put it in the sink as Ben flipped the faucet on with one hand, reaching past Anakin into the freezer to get the first tray of ice out.

Anakin silently took it and cracked the cubes out into the water rushing into the tub, setting the tray aside and repeating the process three more times. He wanted more than anything to break the awkward silence between them, but Ben wasn’t talking and Anakin wasn’t sure how to start.

Ben turned the water off when it was still low enough Anakin would be able to carry it into the living room without sloshing it everywhere, and turned to lean his back against the kitchen counter. Anakin recognized the set of his jaw and the stiff way he folded his arms as he studied the stainless steel door of the refrigerator in front of them. _He doesn’t want to say whatever he is about to. But he… he wouldn’t let me in here and do this just to throw me out, would he?_

“Anakin?” Ben asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

An ice cube snapped in the warm water, and Anakin’s hands tightened on the edge of the sink as he waited for Ben to speak.

The clock in the hallway ticked along, a muted rhythm beating precise and heartless, for at least a minute before Ben continued. “I wanted to talk to you tonight. Where I knew it would be safe to talk for as long as we needed to. I had so many things to say and now, I just… I don’t know. I have no idea what to say.”

Anakin nodded: it was frustrating enough for him. For someone as eloquent as Ben could be, Anakin was sure the feeling was probably ten times as bad. “Well, uh… we could… uh... start simple?”

Ben contemplated the suggestion and him, arms still folded. “What do you mean?”

Summoning up the last of his bravery, Anakin gripped the counter tighter as if it could hold him in place against what he might be about to hear. “Do you want me here? Or should I leave?”

Blinking, Ben let out a sigh and gave him the barest smile. “Yes, I want you here.”

“Ok. See, that’s a start?” Anakin said, heart leaping at his answer. “Uh, your turn?”

There was no hesitation this time, this question one Ben had clearly planned to ask at some point. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

There was no need to clarify what he meant, and Anakin blushed in shame under the hard, wounded look Ben gave him. “No. I was being a dick. You… you hurt me and I wanted you to hurt too.”

He stopped himself before he could apologize again, eyes lowering to the hardwood floor and the toes of his own shoes. _Satine told Padme that Ben hates it when people apologize too much._

“My turn?” Anakin asked when silence stretched out between them, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” came the neutral reply.

“Do you think we could try again? Before you go?” _I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. Even if it’s just a week before you get on the plane, I just want to be with you._

“Anakin, stop,” Ben said, brushing his fingers against Anakin’s mouth, and Anakin realized he was biting his lip so hard waiting for Ben’s answer he was almost drawing blood.

Anakin looked up at him, a little startled at the touch, and Ben’s hand slid down to cup his jaw, the gesture more intimate than the one in the hallway. “About that. It turns out I will be here through the New Year, until the end of January, I believe.”

Anakin blinked at him, stunned. “You will?”

Ben ran his thumb along Anakin’s cheek like he was seeing it for the first time, his voice distant. “You know the ABT school, the JKO School?”

“Yeah, y’all’s version of the school I went to.” He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into the heat of Ben’s palm.

“One of their instructors will be out December and January for surgery and they need a temporary stand-in.” Ben tucked a lock of hair behind Anakin’s ear and focused on that rather than Anakin’s surprised expression. “Satine recommended me and it all worked out.”

“So you’re here an extra couple of months,” Anakin said slowly, trying not to get excited.

“Yes. And…” Ben took a step back, hand falling away from Anakin’s face as he canted his head and regarded Anakin with a solemn expression. “And I don’t know how hard it will be. Us, I mean. Trying this again. But I… I miss you too much not to want to at least try.”

“Me, too.” Anakin broke out into a beatific smile, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Ben couldn’t help but smile back through his own complicated swirl of emotions.

“Try not to look so smug, hmm?” he said dryly, and the worst of the tension between them broke as Anakin laughed in relief.  

There was still more than enough left, however, so much Anakin felt like he was walking on a tightrope over the entire island. But now he could at least see the other side, and the tub full of water was lighter than air as Ben motioned for him to pick it up and follow him into the living room.

 

* * *

 

A few tabs of painkiller and an ice bath later, Anakin lay on his back on the sofa, legs elevated atop a stack of throw pillows piled against one arm of the sofa and his head gently propped against Ben’s thigh as Ben sat on the other end.

He hadn’t wanted to push his luck but Ben had automatically put a pillow down against his leg when he had sat back down to continue his work, and Anakin had gratefully lain down after plucking a book from the stack on the end table. It wasn’t the same, perfect peace it had once been between them, but it was the tentative beginnings of it, and Anakin let out a thankful sigh as he idly flipped through the book.

They sat in silence together as the clock ticked onward, and Ben’s hand drifted to rest in Anakin’s hair as he took notes with his other, the notebook balanced on the arm of the sofa and music playing softly in the background.

It was an echo of the way things had been, and Anakin never wanted it to end and waited as long as he dared before interrupting the silence between them.

“What time is it?” he finally asked, not really wanting to know but able to tell by the fact his legs felt almost normal again it had to be late.

“Around midnight. What time are you due in tomorrow?”

“Ten-thirty. You?”

“Nine.”

“I need to catch the train,” Anakin sighed, and tensed his muscles to sit up, but Ben’s hand slid to his shoulder, stilling him with no force at all beyond the movement itself. “What is it?”

Ben watched Anakin sit up, swallowing before he spoke. It seemed he was talking himself into what he was about to say. “You could stay. If you wanted.”

“I… I could?”

“It’s late, Anakin.” Ben sat his notebook aside and muted the song playing, leaving the room in silence. “I asked you over, so it’s my fault you’re out late. You can have the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

“No, I mean, thank you but I don’t want you on the sofa. I’ll take the sofa.” Anakin saw a flicker of need pass across Ben’s face, of how much Ben had missed him, and cautiously added, “Or we could share the bed? I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m sleeping like shit lately.”

“Anakin, we can’t even try to get back together as a couple until my contract is over at the end of November. I won’t risk that.”

“I know,” Anakin said, serious for a moment before he found himself slipping into the old habit of gentle, playful teasing that Ben had always loved, knowing that he would have to suggest what Ben would not allow himself to offer first. “But it would just be tonight, I swear. One night to hold us over until then? I mean, whoever it was that saw us, she saw us at the Met. I don’t think Black Swan Ninja Ballerina is in your apartment too, is she?”

“Dear God, I hope not,” Ben laughed, unable to resist the warmth of Anakin’s grin, of his earnest attempt to reach out to him like this. “And I do miss sleeping next to you.”

The way he looked at Anakin told him how much.

Encouraged, Anakin pointed back over his shoulder toward the bedroom. “Is my stuff still here?”

“Yes, even a change of clothes, I think. That extra practice bag, the blue one? It’s in my closet.”

“Ok, then, we’re good. I even gave Are Too extra food this morning because of the performance, so he’ll be ok until tomorrow morning.”

Anakin stood up and offered Ben his hand, unwilling to let the chance slip by and heart about to burst at the simple possibility of being able to lie down next to Ben once again. “Come on. We’re both tired. We’ll get ready for bed and go right to sleep. Scout’s honor.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head as he clicked the lamp off that sat on the table next to him. “You were never a Boy Scout, Anakin.”

“Picky, picky.”

They got ready just as they had for months beforehand, in a wordless dance back and forth as they worked their way around each other to reach the soap or toothpaste in Ben’s small bathroom, Anakin secretly happy to find his deodorant and toothbrush still tucked away in the little drawer where he had left them.

Between the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day and the beautiful, familiar warmth that felt like coming home when they curled up together under the sheets, the two fell asleep almost instantly despite the whisper of a much more pleasant tension between them.

Ben brushed Anakin’s hair out of his face and Anakin managed a sleepy smile back at him and then they were asleep, hands twined between them in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's hope for the boys yet! What did you think of them?
> 
> And once again, thank you so much for reading and your kudos, comments and thoughts here and over on Tumblr: y'all are the best and I appreciate all of you! <3 Next update will be the usual two weeks or so.


	12. Reunion

A gentle blush of light around the edges of the bedroom curtains woke Anakin first the next morning. His consciousness returned in slow, soothing drifts of awareness: he was on his side, someone’s warm back was pressed against his chest, and his arm was draped over their hip.

_Ben._

Anakin opened his eyes to Ben’s shoulder, bare and pale with an old scar from a childhood accident tracing along the edge of it, and gave the mark a kiss, his lips brushing cool skin.

Ben usually slept shirtless, and while he had started the night with one on out of respect for Anakin and the delicate nature of their renewed relationship, he had no doubt stripped it off and tossed it aside half-awake at some point.

_I’m here. He let me stay the night._

Anakin ran his fingers over the line of Ben’s arm in reverent fascination. There was no better place in the world to be at that moment than lying in this silent little room, feeling the quiet breathing of the man tucked up against him as the dawn bloomed in a golden glow around them.

The clock on the nightstand that sat on the other side of the bed said they still had half an hour until they had to get up, and as Ben moved under him in his sleep Anakin gave a little sigh at how nice and firm Ben felt against him. _I could wake him up early for a little fun… remind him of what he’s been missing..._

The idea came and, Anakin was surprised to find, went just as quickly as he realized he didn’t really want to. It wasn’t for lack of attraction. The heat and weight of Ben’s body against his, the familiar press of it, triggered plenty of pleasant sensations and memories.

It was the small, powerful epiphany that this was what he always did. _I always jump straight to sex when I’m unsure of things._

 _But maybe this morning, maybe with him, I don’t have to._ Anakin pressed a kiss to the back of Ben’s neck and pulled him closer, closing his eyes and relaxing against him. _Maybe it’s ok to just lie here and be with him._

He let his mind drift, enjoying the warm tangle of their legs and the softness of Ben’s hair brushing his cheek, happy for the first time in weeks.   

When Ben’s alarm on his phone finally went off Anakin was almost asleep again. He yawned as Ben stretched in a lovely shift of muscles underneath him before he reached to tap the phone off, thumping it back on the table and rolling into him. “Morning…” Ben murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep as he slid his arms around Anakin and nestled his head against Anakin’s collarbone.

“Morning,” Anakin smiled.

Ben looked up at him through tousled hair with a half-awake smile of his own, and in the hazy dawn light Anakin found him achingly, impossibly perfect.

Affection swelled up, pure and bright, and without thinking Anakin whispered, “I love you.”

Ben blinked, caught off guard, and Anakin felt a twinge of fear, not at what he had said but the idea Ben would misunderstand it as desperation. “I…” He pulled back as Ben sat up and scrubbed his hand through his hair, fixing him with a dazed expression. “I mean, I do, but--”

Anakin sat up in an awkward hunch forward, gesturing uselessly with his hands. _You don’t have to say it too_ , he almost finished, but then another fear rolled in over the first. _No, I shouldn’t say that. Because I don’t know he loves me after all the crap I pulled. And I’d look like a jerk assuming he does, and--_

“Anakin?” Ben said, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn with one hand as he reached over to him with the other. Cupping Anakin’s cheek in his hand, Ben rubbed his thumb along his lower lip in a tender, wordless reminder for him to relax before he bit down too hard on it. “Come here.”

He pulled Anakin in with the slightest tug, canting his head to the side, and Anakin felt his anxiety melt away as they drew together in a hesitant kiss. It wasn’t the words Anakin wanted to hear, and it wasn’t the burst of passion they had shared in the rain in Central Park, but the kiss was precious to him anyway because Ben had initiated it.

When they sat back again, Ben gave him a long, thoughtful look, brushing one lock of hair and then another out of Anakin’s face. “I’m going to get in the shower,” he said, sliding out of bed and picking up his shirt from where he had tossed it on the floor.

“Ok.” Anakin watched Ben shrug it back on, frowning at the new hint of slenderness to his figure as Ben disappeared out into the living room. _Why is he going out there?_ Sitting cross-legged in the sheets, Anakin curled his fists in the covers and studied them as he tried in vain to think of something to say when Ben came back. _Why did I have to say that just then?_

A minute later Ben returned in slow footsteps with one of his sketchbooks under his arm. “Here,” he said in an oddly tense voice, offering it out to Anakin on his way to the shower. “I meant to give this to you some time ago, but I didn’t. And I should have. Even with what happened between us, I… well, I still want you to have it, and I still mean what I wrote.”

“Your sketchbook? I don’t understand. What you wrote?”

Ben’s lips thinned, tapping his hand nervously against his hip. “A picture. Toward the back.”

And then he was gone, the door to the bathroom shutting and Anakin looking down in puzzlement at the worn, beaten-up sketchbook. It was a heavier paper than most of the practice ones Anakin had seen him use, little black hatch marks randomly scattered over the front, crisscrossing here and there as Ben had apparently tested new inking pens. And from the way the cover pressed downward, more than half of the pages had been torn out: either pictures Ben had liked enough to keep or attempts he had thrown out.

Considering the long weeks it took Ben to finish a single illustration to his satisfaction, the sketchbook had to be at least a few years old.

Opening it slowly to the first page as the sound of the shower hissing to life echoed from the bathroom, Anakin saw the beginnings of a skyline, the distinctive spire of the Chrysler Building instantly recognizable despite the spare lines just anchoring it into place on the white page. _His diary of New York_ , he thought with a small smile. _Like his drawings of other places._ Flipping past it, he saw other ghosts of buildings and trees, and then a stretch of blank pages ruffling by. _Why did he want me to look at this?_ he wondered, and then a picture fell into view, crisp black and finished in fine detail.

Used to seeing only landscapes in Ben’s precise, elegant style of line work, it took Anakin a second to understand he was not looking at hills or the curves of a river, but a cascade of wavy hair lying along a sleeping face.

_It’s… it’s me._

He lifted his hand to run his fingers along the page, stunned. While the portrait was dated September, he knew it hadn’t been finished in one day or even one week. _How long did this take him?_

Lost in the loving, intricate details of it, from the faint suggestion of Anakin’s scar along his eye to the curls of hair just under his ears, it took Anakin a while to notice there was something below the illustration, a scrawl of words in Ben’s angular handwriting.

_On nights when I couldn’t sleep, for the first time in my life I didn’t really mind. Because I had you next to me._

_I love you._

_-Ben_

Anakin stared at the words, reading them once and then again, touching the paper as if they would disappear. The sound of the shower continued behind him, and Anakin looked back at the closed door, chest so tight with a fierce, deep need for the man on the other side it almost hurt.

_I love you too. So much._

_I will make it up to you, I swear. I will dance my ass off._

_I will do anything to be with you._

And as much as that realization frightened him with its intensity, Anakin knew it to be true as soon as he thought it, and felt it shake his world even as the moment passed by in unassuming silence, the shower continuing to hum along in the next room.

When the sound of water trailed away and he heard the bathroom door open behind him, Anakin was still studying the fine lines that made up the drawing’s hair. Closing his eyes, letting Ben come to him, he smiled a little as the bed shifted with the weight of Ben sitting down behind him.

And then Ben leaned against his bare back, saying nothing, just the gentle feeling of the cotton of his bathrobe pressing into Anakin’s skin as Ben’s cheek came to rest on his shoulder and the cold tickle of damp hair lay against his neck.

They sat together in the quiet morning light, not facing each other, the peace of the moment a fragile one.

“Thank you,” Anakin finally whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“I almost threw it away. That night,” Ben confessed, resting against Anakin’s shoulder and his words a low hum against Anakin’s back. “But even then, even though I didn’t, well, I didn’t want it to be... I knew that it was still true. What I wrote. And I couldn’t throw away something that was still true.”

“You had every right to,” he said, gripping the side of the sketchbook a little tighter in shame.

“Neither of us handled ourselves well, Anakin. Yes, you hurt me. But I came in like God himself, telling you what we were going to do and how it was going to happen. I didn’t even ask you what you wanted to do. Christ, I didn’t even hug you or try to comfort you first. I was just in a panic.”

Anakin shrugged, not wanting to remember the evening at all but conceding what Ben said was true. “It… it probably didn’t help things,” he told the drawing of himself, his finger running nervously along the metal coils spiraling through the top of the page.

“I know it didn’t.”

“But that’s over, right? I mean, we’re not perfect and it’s not like it didn’t happen, but we’re going to try again, right?”

“Yes, but…” Ben let out a long sigh, breath warm against Anakin’s skin. “If we are going to try again, we have to talk more.”

He wrapped his arms around Anakin from behind, resting his hands on Anakin’s bare stomach. “You have to understand something about me, Anakin. I can’t… I know it upset you I was so quiet about my feelings for you, but I’m not any good at saying things like that, or even showing it. I never have been. But I can draw. That’s all I can do, and it’s probably the only kind of love letter I’ll ever be able to give you. Can you accept that? Someone like me?”

Anakin forced himself to think about his answer, to not blurt out agreement instantly. _Can I trust that he loves me?_

_I can try. I want to try._

“Yes. Can you…” Anakin swallowed, staring down hard at his lap. “Can you accept me being the opposite? Clingy, needy asshole, all over you all the time and saying he loves you all the time?”

“‘Demonstrative’, Anakin.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the word you’re looking for. Much nicer way of saying that.”

Anakin felt Ben’s lips curve against his back in the hint of a smile, and relief flooded through him. _He’s teasing me. Just a little._ “Thanks. So what are your thoughts on a demonstrative boyfriend? Do you… think you could put up with one?”

Another pause as Ben gave the question the same consideration Anakin had.

“Yes, I think I could. Once my contract is over at the end of next month.”

Anakin groaned down at his hands buried in the sheets, careful to do it in such an exaggerated way it wouldn’t be mistaken for real exasperation. “A whole month?” _I would wait a year for you if I had to._ “What was that saying you taught me? ‘Sod that for a laugh’?”

It got the reaction he hoped it would, a surprised chuckle over his shoulder. “I did _not_ teach you that. I may have uttered it at some point in your presence, possibly while drunk.”

“I’m just being demonstrative. Showing you how long a month feels to me,” Anakin grinned up at the ceiling.

“I see.” Ben stood, the mattress rising back up, and ran his hand through Anakin’s hair as he walked past him. “Hop in the shower and I’ll make us a quick breakfast before we have to go.”

“Ok.” Anakin closed the sketchbook and set it aside, and when he got out of the shower and came back into the the bedroom, his portrait had been torn out and sat neatly atop his folded clothes from the day before inside his bag.

Smiling down at it, leaning back so as not drip water on the paper, he zipped the bag shut and went out to help with breakfast.

 

* * *

 

November passed in a blur of Nutcracker rehearsals and colder weather, Anakin once again the Cavalier to Padme’s Sugar Plum Fairy and happy to be dancing with her once again. There was something soothing about the familiar chaos of it all: the marathon practices, the costume fittings, his best friend close by.

It was demanding and exhausting and it was home.

Anakin and Ben kept away from each other as promised except for the occasional text, mutually agreeing there was no sense tempting fate by meeting up again, but Anakin did not feel as nervous about that as he imagined that he would as the days stretched into weeks, counting down toward a short break prior to the holiday season that coincided with the end of Ben’s contract.

Every night when Anakin went home, all he had to do to reassure himself of Ben’s feelings was simply look up just above his mirror at the portrait now hanging there next to the newspaper clipping about his dancing. It was a neat, perfect summary of his life, and made him smile every time.

Ben and ballet.

That was all he needed.

There was a midday goodbye party at lunch the week before the break for Ben, well attended and full of hugs and praise from the dancers he had worked with, and Anakin was very careful not to hug Ben too long or watch him too fondly as he laughed and thanked everyone in a short speech that was eloquent and gracious and gave no hint as to the bitter complication that had arisen so late in his residence.

But when one of the dancers, Quinlan from the sound of it, called out, “I have to know! Where are you going? Who are you going to go torment next?” to good-natured laughter, including Ben’s own, Ben only answered with a deadpan reply that brought even more laughter from the group.

“Somewhere classy enough to not take you, Vos.”

Anakin chuckled too, but he knew Ben didn’t have anything set after the teaching stint ended at the end of January, and that was the only thing that needled at him when he had a rare moment to sit and think as the weeks wound down to December. But his excitement to see Ben again, to be with him again, was far stronger than his worries about something still more than two months away on the calendar.

When he returned home after the break from his yearly, too-short trip to see his mom back in Arizona, turning on his phone as soon as the plane landed, all it took was a simple message to make him grin like an idiot.

_hope your flight went well_

_still want to try again?_

 

_YES_

_how soon can i show you how much i want to?_

 

* * *

 

The answer ended up being that evening in Anakin’s apartment.

The two of them stumbled together into his small bedroom almost as soon as Ben arrived with a quiet greeting and take-out that was immediately forgotten on the kitchen counter, greedy for each other and desperate to erase the awful memory of what had happened the last time Ben had been over.

“Missed you,” Anakin murmured in the dim light of the room’s only lamp, hands tangled in Ben’s hair as he kissed him over and over again, tugging his coat off. “Missed you so much.”

Ben pulled him in close, running soothing hands up and down Anakin’s back under the black shirt he wore but no less eager in his kisses. “Missed you too.”

There was an unsettled edge to their caresses, their bodies needing the same chance at reconciliation their hearts had begun a month before, and Ben found himself pushing Anakin back toward the bed harder than he intended to.

But the happy, almost lupine grin Anakin gave him as he fell to sprawl atop it it told him it was not unwelcome. It shone in Anakin’s eyes too, a fierce desire glittering with frustration, and in a hiss of fabric Anakin drew his legs under himself to sit up in a kneel on the mattress. As he did, he took Ben’s hand and pressed it closed around his own throat.

Ben looked down at him, at his lean thighs and narrow hips and pretty mouth curving upward in a smile that dared him to keep going. _God, you’re beautiful._ But the thing that aroused him the most was the utter trust in Anakin’s eyes as Ben squeezed his hand, just a little, around the firm warmth of Anakin’s throat. _I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you no._

“Come on,” Anakin said, his voice a low, sultry hum against Ben’s palm. “Play with me?”

Ben tilted his chin back and licked his lips, already knowing what his answer would be as a dark, powerful rush of lust swept through him. _Mine. You’re mine again. Like you should be,_ he thought to himself with a possessiveness that aroused him as much as it frightened him as he slowly pushed Anakin down to the mattress.

Neither spoke for the next hour as they fumbled their way back to each other with hard, searching kisses and rough, teasing struggles that at last melted into passion, Ben giving low, beautiful snarls against Anakin’s ear as he thrust against him so hard Anakin couldn’t even form words coherently enough to keep begging for more.

“Mine,” Ben hissed in aching, breathless need as he tightened his grip around Anakin’s wrists where he had pinned them over his head, the last of his anger burning away in the white-hot, writhing heat of Anakin’s body below him. “ _Mine._ ”

Anakin moaned, pretty blue eyes locked on Ben’s and bright with the same truth that seethed in his own, an understanding as delicate as it was profound.

 _I need you_ , their souls whispered to each other with a gentleness that defied the violent, endless desire of their lovemaking that night.

_I need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go after this! Thank you all so much for reading and supporting this story! <3 <3 <3


	13. A Phone Call

Serene strains of music drifted through the lavish expanse of the Organas’ wood-paneled living room, the vast, airy space fragrant with evergreen and lit by delicate white Christmas lights and candles as couples swayed together in place, arms around each other.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it as late as you got out,” Ben murmured to Anakin in pleasant surprise, hands loosely clasped around his shoulders. “And you even wore The Hat.”

Anakin returned the smile with a loving one of his own, his own arms around Ben’s waist. “Can’t have Christmas without my dumb Santa hat. And hey, I met you in it. Can’t be that bad.”

“True,” Ben admitted. “We need to find that girl with the cards and thank her.”

Anakin nodded. “You know,” he whispered, the bell on his hat jingling as he tilted his head, “it’s too bad you’re staying with me now.”

Ben lifted his eyebrow in mock offense, curious to see where Anakin was going with this. “Wait, you’re sick of me after three weeks? It hasn’t even been a month!”

“No,” Anakin grinned, lips close to his ear, each word a teasing puff of heat. “Because if you were staying here, we could, you know, pretend to meet each other all over again.”

Ben chuckled, brushing his fingers through the soft curls at the back of Anakin’s neck as they danced. “You are terrible. But yes, it is a tragedy.” He closed his eyes at the warm weight of Anakin against him. “Has it really been a year since we met?”

“It has. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, not at all.”

The party went on around them in the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, but neither noticed, content to sway slowly in the candleglow for as long as they could. They had only been able to date publicly for a few weeks, and it was still a new, exciting feeling for both of them to do something as simple as hold hands or touch in public.

But a few songs later Ben noticed Anakin give a sharp little sigh he tried to stifle, and cupped Anakin’s jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “You need to get off your feet, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Anakin winced in apology. “I guess I should head home pretty soon. Are you going to stay? I know you haven’t seen Bail lately.”

“Yes, I’d like to for a bit.” Ben hugged him close to nuzzle into his chest and the clean, familiar scent of him, not wanting him to go. “Shall I ask him about the charity thing?”

“Yeah, but only if you’re really ok with Padme dancing your part. And you don’t want to dance it.”

“She would be lovely, Anakin,” he responded firmly, giving soothing strokes up and down Anakin’s back and refusing to discuss the second part of his answer just as he had every time Anakin had brought it up since they had come up with this idea. “I’d love to see her interpretation and what you two do with it together. Now you go on home and I’ll be there in another hour or so.”

“Last chance to meet me again,” Anakin grinned as he stepped back toward the party-goers milling past the informal dance floor, batting at the white puff at the end of his hat while his other hand twined with Ben’s.

“Bail’s mother is in that room, Anakin,” Ben said with a stern, chiding tone before breaking into a smirk. “I asked Bail first thing when I got here if anyone was in there.”

“Ben Kenobi!” Anakin gasped, pretending to be scandalized, and leaned in to steal a kiss. “Hurry home. You know I’m at my most sexy when I’m on my back on the sofa whining about my feet.”

“It’s the stack of pillows that does it for me, you know,” Ben teased, stealing one back before Anakin left and his hand slid out of Ben’s as he turned to disappear into the crowd.

Watching him go with a fond shake of his head, Ben took a drink from a passing server’s tray and relaxed for a little while as Anakin’s warmth faded from his palm, enjoying the laughter and decorations and cheer of the party before setting off to find Bail somewhere in the winding, tastefully decorated maze of the vast apartment.

 

* * *

 

Bail had been searching for Ben as well, as it turned out, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were seated in plush chairs by one of the fireplaces scattered through the rooms, lifting glasses in a salute to each other as people wandered past them in snippets of conversation and the occasional jingling of bells.

“Have you had a good time here, Ben?” Bail asked thoughtfully after he took a drink, sitting the glass aside.   

“Yes. It wasn’t all perfect, but it has been incredible. I mean, I’ve been a choreographer for the New York City Ballet, Bail. It’s amazing,” Ben said, gazing into the fire as a scattering of memories drifted past. “And I met Anakin.”

Bail nodded. “I saw you two together earlier. You looked very happy.”

“He makes me happier than anyone ever has, Bail.”

“Have you two talked about making it more serious?”

“No,” Ben sighed, taking another swallow of his drink, the ice rattling in his glass. “By mutual agreement, it seems. Anakin is on his way to being a principal with the company, and my future is rather uncertain right now. The temporary job I have is nice. It turns out I love teaching children. Who knew?”

Bail laughed. “I can see it, actually.”

“But that’s over at the end of January, along with my visa if I can’t find a new employer. I’ll have a bit of a grace period, of course, like Satine did before she went back, but you know what I mean. And my agent is starting to call with job offers. Nothing serious yet, but as usual they’re all overseas. Right now he claims he’s working on something big for me.”

“You don’t sound happy?”

“I’ve traveled so much, Bail. It’s amazing in many ways, but I’m getting tired of it.”

“Time to go home?”

“I think it might be. But I couldn’t ask Anakin to come back to London with me, especially if I don’t have work lined up. I couldn’t ask him to give up his dream of becoming a principal for the company. That’s all he’s ever wanted. And I don’t know if, in the end, he would find me, us, worth that price. No matter where my job took us to.”

“Ah, that’s a hard place to be in. Not knowing whether to end it on a high note or try to make something more of it.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed after a long moment of thought. “That’s a very good way to put it. We joked in the beginning that it was just going to be for fun, that it would make a good story for the care home, but now… now I don’t know.”

Bail listened, careful not to push his old friend further on it, and gently changed the topic before Ben could sink any further into his characteristic pensiveness. “You texted me earlier about the charity event Breha’s running in February?”

“Yes,” Ben said, with a thankful nod for the new direction of the conversation. “Anakin and I choreographed a pas de deux together awhile back, and since the theme of the event is love he wondered if you were still looking for performers?”

“Oh yes, we would be thrilled to have you two as part of it! Wait, are you going to dance?” Bail asked in surprise.

“No, Padme volunteered to dance my part. We’ll rework it for her. They’re best friends and I think it could be just as emotional for them to dance it,” Ben told him with a surety that Bail knew better than to question.

“Well, I know Breha will love to have the three of you involved.” Bail took his phone out and typed in a quick note to himself before tucking it back away. “She’ll let you know more of the details later on.”

“Thank you, Bail. So tell me what you and Breha have been up to since I saw you last?”

 

* * *

 

A train ride and hike up the usual flights of stairs later, Anakin lay on his back on his sofa with his legs propped up on a stack of mismatched pillows he scrounged from all over the apartment, a sleeping Are Too a pleasantly heavy weight on his chest as he held his cell phone up to read the text Ben had sent.

_you and padme are on in february_

_be home soon_

He gave the little text bubble a faint smile of hope and put the phone back down, closing his eyes. _Come on, Skywalker. You can do this_ , he told himself despite the surge of nervousness that swelled up stronger than the pain in his legs.

Even Anakin could no longer deny the days flying by on the calendar, and in bringing up the idea of performing their pas de deux for the Valentine-themed charity event Breha was hosting, he had set in motion a tentative plan that he had not dared to share with anyone.

_Ben says my dancing made him fall in love with me._

_Well, maybe if I dance well enough I can make him stay. I can show him I’m worth staying for._

_I just have to show him how much he means to me. I can’t write love letters either. I suck at trying to be eloquent and poetic and all that. But I can sure as hell dance._

_So I’ll dance our dance. The one we wrote together._

_I’ll dance it so well he’ll stay._

As far as plans went, Anakin knew it was a shaky one, but he did not dare think of the future beyond it. _It has to work. It has to._

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and was asleep on the sofa, Are Too purring on his chest, when Ben came home a little while later, the chill December wind still fresh on his lips as he leaned down to kiss Anakin awake enough to get ready for bed.

 

* * *

 

Time passed in a blur for Anakin, the beautiful haze of the Nutcracker and the studio rehearsals for Swan Lake and other productions like a strange fever dream under the frigid, dull grey skies of a New York winter. Between those and the early morning rehearsals for the pas de deux, he and Padme and Ben arriving bleary-eyed but determined to practice in one of the Center’s row of still-empty studios, there was not enough time to think and less time to worry about much of anything.

But Anakin did.

Windu and Mundi’s careful, spare praise for him as he rehearsed Prince Siegfried left him giddy as he started to understand, really understand what it likely meant for his career, but there was an undercurrent of fear in his diligent effort as well.

These last few weeks were his last chance to impress Ben, to make Ben stay with him, and he danced harder than he ever had any time he walked into a studio, until everything fell away and there was nothing but his body and the beautiful, elusive peace that came with flourishes and steps and jumps.

When it came to the pas de deux itself, however, nothing seemed to go right. As the days slipped by, despite their best efforts, it quickly became clear that not even as talented a ballerina as Padme could adapt or even completely recreate Ben’s role for herself within the piece. There was too little time and too much of Ben and Anakin’s relationship entwined in the heart of the piece, and by the fourth rehearsal they agreed there was no way to make it work as it stood.

“Would it just be easier to choreograph a new pas de deux for the event?” Padme cautiously asked as they sat together on the studio floor taking a break, saying aloud what they were all thinking. “I mean, Anakin, you’re an incredible dancer and I don’t think this is showing that at this point. You keep wanting to fall back into the original. And I understand. I mean, you two danced it together step by step for how many months?”

“A few,” Anakin said softly, reaching over to put his hand on Ben’s knee.

Ben covered it with his own and squeezed. “Padme may be right, Anakin. This might not work.”

“Looks like there’s only one Ben after all,” she said, her own heart breaking at the subtle way Anakin’s other hand clenched into a panicked fist by his side, out of sight of Ben. “Sure you don’t want to dance it, Ben?”

“No, I couldn’t,” he answered in a patient, weary tone, studying the floor as he spoke to Anakin in a clear continuation of a long-running disagreement between the couple. “I’m not that good. You know that.”

“You are. Please?” Anakin asked in the same quiet, fragile tone, the word hanging in the cool air of the studio between them. “One more dance? With me? For me?”

 _Please, Ben_ , Padme silently begged him, her heart in her throat and unable to imagine how much worse it had to be for the two of them. _Dance with Anakin just one more time before you go. He loves you so much._

Time stretched out between them as Ben struggled with the choice, three people small and frail in the early-morning silence of the center. Padme felt the weight of a memory forming heavy and important in her mind: the dull grey of the zipper on Anakin’s hoodie pulled halfway down it, the draft of warmer air coming in through the propped open door stirring the hair on the back of her neck. _Please, Ben. Come on. Please._

“All right,” Ben said, lifting his reluctant gaze back to Anakin. “For you.”

The smile that lit Anakin’s face was so bright, so fiercely hopeful Padme wanted to cry at the desperate love it hinted at, but she kept it inside as she volunteered to stay on as a helpful eye during rehearsals.

Anakin beamed at her with open gratefulness as they stood back up and began discussing the next time they would be able to meet. _Thank you, Padme. Thank you._

The next week went by as beautifully and seamlessly as the previous ones had stumbled along, Anakin and Ben falling back into the pas de deux with such effortless grace it seemed they had never stopped practicing. To avoid any lingering ill will with the company, they kept the same early morning schedule but moved the rehearsals to the ABT school Ben now taught at, and Anakin always smiled fondly as Ben proudly pointed out his students in group photos in the hallway, telling Anakin about a technique one had learned or a competition another had won the month before.

Anakin debuted in Swan Lake to glowing reviews of his performance and a swell of pride and love in his heart knowing that Ben was in the audience that first night, and soon Ben’s drawing and the original newspaper clipping over his mirror had several new friends taped up next to them and down one side of the frame.

“You are amazing,” Ben whispered in his ear, arms loosely draped around Anakin’s waist as he put the last clipping up and stepped back to admire them.

“I really think they’re going to make me a principal,” Anakin dared to say out loud, leaning back against Ben. “I can’t believe it.”

“You deserve it, Anakin,” Ben declared, kissing his shoulder. “Do you forgive me? For what happened? I almost cost you this.”

“No, you didn’t,” Anakin replied, turning to face him. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he added as he pulled him along toward their little bedroom. “Come on… help me celebrate my fifth positive review?”

“I can’t wait for your sixth,” Ben teased, letting Anakin lead him back.

 

* * *

 

It was just before dawn the next day, the two of them still asleep as Ben’s classes didn’t begin until school let out and Anakin not due in until later that morning, when Ben’s phone began to ring in gentle chimes from his side of the bed.

Yawning, Anakin rolled over toward him as Ben sat up groggily and blinked at the screen before answering it. “Hello?”

There was a pause as Anakin stroked the fuzzy lump of Are Too still sleeping tucked between them, and then Ben’s eyebrows lifted as he frowned in sudden concentration. “Oui? C’est de la part de qui? Ah… Oui, ah… oui... un moment, s’il vous plaît.”

As Ben lowered the phone in disbelief, sliding out of bed, Anakin’s curiosity grew. He mouthed, “Who is it?”

Ben’s stunned expression didn’t change as he walked out shirtless into the living room, whispering back as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “The Paris Opera Ballet.” Are Too hopped down and trailed after him, hoping for an early morning feeding.

Anakin would have normally been entranced by hearing Ben speak another language, but his stomach gave a nasty twist as Ben sat down out on the sofa and reached for one of his notebooks, turning away from the open bedroom door Anakin watched him through.

_The Paris Opera Ballet? They’re right up there with the Royal Ballet._

He didn’t know French beyond ballet terms, but the surprised, pleased tone of Ben’s voice sent an icy, awful realization through him. _Oh my God. Are they offering him a job? Is this an interview?_

Anakin stood and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door to mute the sound of the conversation and leaning over the sink, breathing hard as he tried to fight down the blind panic that rushed through him.

 _I can’t dance that well. Even I can’t dance well enough to match the fucking Paris Opera Ballet_. He squeezed the cool porcelain of the counter edge, willing himself to keep breathing as his knuckles turned pale and his short nails slid across the smooth white. _He’s going to leave. Who wouldn’t?_

_How could I have been that stupid? To think he wouldn’t?_

He stared into the mirror and felt a black wave of fear rushing through him as the conversation wound down in the living room and silence returned, followed by cautious footsteps back toward him across the bare floor.

“Anakin?” Ben called from the other side of the door with a few taps on it. “Are you all right?”

He turned, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in and then letting it out three times, something Rex and Cody had taught him the night of his and Ben’s break-up, and with the scent of shampoo and soap in his lungs he waited until he was sure could stay calm enough to speak before he opened the door.

Ben was smiling weakly at him, shock evident on his own face.

Anakin swallowed, clinging to the precarious balance the careful breathing had given him. “So, uh… Paris called, huh?” he said, trying to find a smile for Ben. _This is huge for his career. I have to support him. I have to try._

“Yes,” Ben said, reaching out and taking Anakin’s hands, stepping into the bathroom with him and clearly fighting to find his own equilibrium. “They want me to fly out for an interview.”

“That’s…” Anakin began, but the word ‘great’ stuck in his throat like a piece of broken glass. “... When’s the interview?”

“Two weeks from today, the morning of the 12th. It’s the only day all of the people I would need to meet would be there,” Ben said, running his thumbs over Anakin’s knuckles and looking just as lost as Anakin felt.

“Oh. When would you fly out?”

“They suggested the 9th, but I told them I had a commitment on the 10th,” Ben explained without saying anything more about the date. _Our pas de deux,_ they both knew without saying. “The latest flight we were able to find was midnight on the 10th.”

Anakin heard what was being said, lost in a numbness that made everything seem dreamlike at yet all too real at once. “Are we… are we still dancing?”

“Of course. Anakin, listen.” Ben slid his hands up Anakin’s shoulders to his face, cupping it gently. “This must have been what my agent was talking about. I had no idea this was coming. But this is not the time to…” He paused, biting off words, and considered what he was saying with a pained look. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I mean, if you agree, Anakin, right now is not the time to talk about this.”

Anakin felt Ben’s fingers trembling against his skin and saw the same awful mix of excitement and dread on his face, and managed a nod. “I… I agree,” he said, the words feeling unfamiliar and awkward in his mouth, but he did his best to find a few more. “When… do you want to talk about it?”

Drawing and letting out a long sigh, Ben leaned forward to touch his forehead to Anakin’s. “Tonight, after work? When we’ve had time to think, and we’ll be calmer.”

“What’s there to think about, Ben? It’s the Paris Opera Ballet! It’s--” Anakin caught himself and apologized softly, glancing away. “I’m sorry, Ben. I just…”

“I know. Please, tonight, Anakin? Not now.” Ben stroked Anakin’s face soothingly, fingers light on his skin. “I have some errands to run that I can go and get finished, and then you’ll be off to work, and we can… spend some time thinking about it before we see each other again tonight.”

Anakin leaned into his touch, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to shout, to panic. He focused on the warmth of Ben’s hand against his cheek, willing there to be nothing else in the world but that gentle sign of affection. “Please… before you go?” he asked so quietly Ben almost couldn’t hear him, but the way his hands slid up Ben’s chest made it clear what he wanted.

Without hesitating, Ben pulled him in close for a kiss made fierce and hard with anxiety and need, pushing Anakin up against the sink as they twined their arms around each other and fought back words and ideas and anything but the heat and immediate comfort of the other.

The sex that soon followed was quick and rough, the small mirror only showing a lock of hair swaying across Ben’s face as he thrust into Anakin bent over the counter, but it took enough of the edge off they were able to part with a tender kiss and hopeful yet worried smiles after showering together, no further words exchanged between them other than a simple goodbye as they got ready and Ben left first, disappearing out the door in a wave of blue and brown.

 

* * *

 

The moment Anakin set foot out into the icy January wind a few hours later, the harsh gusts howling down through the alleys created by the island’s tall buildings, it stripped away the dazed fog he had spent his morning in and left only a truth as bitter as the winter weather.

_If he doesn’t get this job in Paris, he’ll end up with another one somewhere else._

_He’s going to leave._

_And I can’t live without him._

Anakin bit his lip under the scarf he had wrapped around his face as he ducked down the steps out of the wind into the dim cavern of the subway. He had never imagined he would make such a momentous decision in such a humble, mundane place, but as the train rolled in, brakes shrieking along the platform he waited on, he did.

_I’ll leave with him. If he wants me to._

_I’ll give this up and go with him._

It hurt more than Anakin thought possible, but he knew it was the only way. _If I let him go and stay here, I won’t be able to dance for shit anymore. I know I won’t. I won’t ever get over him._

_But at least if I go with him, if I have him, I’ll have one of the two things I love._

_If he wants me._

He stared at his reflection in the window of the train car, and then in the mirrors of the studio when his groups paused during rehearsals, the entire day passing in stolen glimpses of himself as he attempted to wrap his mind around the idea of not dancing for the New York City Ballet. Of giving up his lifelong dream to be a principal for them. _What am I, if I’m not a dancer here?_

Padme knew something was going on the moment he walked into their shared rehearsal for a new production coming out later in the spring, but fortunately they shared only that piece at this point and it wasn’t a rehearsal day for the pas de deux, so he was able to stall her with shrugs and little half-smiles until they were called back onto the floor.

The day went by far more quickly than he believed it could as he took in every small detail of the Center and his coworkers with a new appreciation for how precious of a world it was and how soon he might leave that world. It had never occurred to him there might be a day he walked out of the Center never to come back, and now that such a possibility loomed before him he saw everything around him with fresh appreciation, even lingering by the doors that day on his way out, as if just entertaining the idea of leaving would somehow ban him from returning the next day.

By the time he came home in the early evening from rehearsals, no performances that night, Ben was already there, sitting on the sofa with Are Too in his lap and a bag of richly scented Indian take-out on the plain little coffee table in front of him.

“Hey,” Anakin called as he came in and hung his coat up by the door, the ice in his gut not leaving him despite the warmth of the apartment building after the cold weather outside.

But at the fond, concerned expression on Ben’s face when he came into the living room, it began to melt just a little. “Hello, Anakin.”

 _He’s worth it. He’s worth this._ “I thought about it.”

“I have too,” Ben answered, and a strained silence fell between the two of them as Anakin sat down and they fought for what to say, Are Too rolling over on his back and stretching as Ben rubbed his furry belly absentmindedly.

“It’s the Paris Opera Ballet, Ben,” Anakin said in a low, reverent tone, reaching over to scratch Are Too’s ruff so he wouldn’t have to look up at him. “I can’t ask you to give that up. Or any other job that would take you elsewhere.”

“I can’t ask you to leave the company,” Ben replied just as quietly, his fingers brushing Anakin’s as he stroked Are Too’s fur. The cat kneaded the air, blinking up at both of them. “That’s your dream. To be a principal for them. But I don’t, I don’t want to break up with you. And I don’t think we would do well in a long-distance relationship. I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Anakin finally met his gaze, his hand sliding over Ben’s. “If you want me to, I’ll go with you when you leave.”

“Anakin.” Ben’s blue-grey eyes were on his now, wide in surprise. “I… that’s not fair to you…”

“Listen, please. You don’t have to decide right now. I mean, we’re not really level-headed right now, you know?”

Ben nodded, love and confusion clear in his eyes, and waited.

“And I’m not going to be level-headed at saying goodbye. I never have been. With anyone. So, well, our dance is on the 10th, right? Sometime between 6 and 8? And your flight is at midnight?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t….” _Just say it, Anakin. Say it and put it out there._ “Why don’t we do this? If you want me to go with you, if you want this to be more than a fling, come and dance with me. Then you go on ahead and I’ll come join you as soon as I can, wherever you finally end up.”

“Anakin…”

“If you just, well… if you just want to keep it a good story for the old folks’ home, don’t come. I’ll dance it as a variation and end it early. None of them will know. And it’ll…” Anakin shrugged, looking away toward the window and the snow just beginning to fall outside. “It’ll be my way of saying goodbye to us, to this. One last time.”

“Anakin,” Ben repeated, gently shifting Are Too to the floor so he could lean back and pull Anakin down for a hug against him. “I can’t ask you to leave for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Anakin said with a weak smile as they lay on the sofa, Ben worriedly stroking his hair. “I’ve been selfish my whole life. It’s time for me to not be.”

“You are perfect, Anakin,” Ben murmured, fingers pausing in the soft waves. “You are not selfish.”

“Just think about it, please?”

“I… all right. I’ll think about it.” They watched the snow fall in slow, fat flakes outside as they lay in each other’s arms, silent for a long while at the weight of the future pressing down on them and the deep love they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! What did you think of this one? What do you think will happen with our boys?
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, and commenting! <3 <3 <3 Y'all are the best! (Please pitchfork me gently?)


	14. Devotion/Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story began as a Christmas present for my girlfriend [Fireflyfish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyFish/works) based on an AU prompt of hers and along the way has become one of my most popular fics to date. Merry Christmas, baby! And a huge, heartfelt thank you to all of the readers who left kudos, commented, messaged me on Tumblr, and even did fan art of Ben and Anakin! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!
> 
> So here it is, the conclusion of Coda. I hope you like it. <3

In the still of Anakin’s apartment, Ben sat at the little table by the kitchen, hands loosely clasped in his lap and eyes closed as he tried to let go of his thoughts one by one. Anakin had left for work over an hour ago, and Are Too was asleep on the sofa, the soft hum of the radiator and the sound of a cheap clock hanging in the kitchen corner the only noise.

_It must be almost noon by now._

Meditation had helped him steady himself before, but it was almost impossible this morning. Ben was aware of too much he didn’t want to be: of the time passing in neat, ruthless ticks of the clock, of a slight stinging under his button-down shirt that centered mostly over his heart.

Memories of the night before kept returning, bittersweet and sharp.

_Anakin smiling up at him, pretty lips flushed, proud of the fresh, bright marks he’d left on Ben’s chest. “So you don’t forget about me while you’re over there,” he said._

_“Don’t I get to leave any on you?” Ben chuckled, pulling Anakin up to give him a hard kiss._

_“No, I won’t ever forget you,” he murmured, breathless afterward, blue eyes intent on Ben._

They had kissed again, falling into the soothing, familiar rhythm of each other’s desire, but both of them knew there had been more to Anakin’s refusal than what he had said.

Ben still hadn’t decided what to do about Anakin’s offer to leave with him, and it was clear that, on at least a subconscious level, Anakin was preparing himself to be left behind. After all, what would be more painful than watching and feeling marks heal that had been left by someone who you knew you would never see again? Fading and fading until there was nothing left to show the two of you had ever been?

And Ben had understood that fear, even as Anakin had scratched and bit him, his feelings left in lines of red scrawled across Ben’s back and chest in the slow, honeyed madness of their lovemaking. _I love you so much_ , every mark and bruise said, and Ben hadn’t wanted to stop him. It was beautiful and painful and made him feel cherished beyond words for one more night.

_Our last night?_

He opened his eyes with a heavy sigh and leaned back in the chair, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he gave up trying to meditate. _I don’t want it to be. God, I love him so much._

_But I can’t ask him to give up what he has, and what he’s worked so hard for. I know they’ll make him a principal sooner or later if he stays. He’s amazing._

Ben thought of their pas de deux, of Anakin’s graceful passion and gentle touches as they danced together. _I will never love anyone else like I love him. I know that. I’m sure of it._

_But I can’t take him from his world here. I would never forgive myself._

_And I have to go. If not Paris then somewhere else. If I want to remain a choreographer I can’t insist on only working in New York._

_What am I supposed to do?_

Ben reluctantly stood and went back into the narrow bedroom to pull his suitcase out from under the bed in a low rumble. _It’s better for him if I go_ , he tried to tell himself with no more success than he had the dozen times before that he had had this argument with himself.

_It’s better if we just don’t see each other again after last night._

The morning had been quiet and awkward, hardly anything said between them in an unspoken agreement that if there was to be a final memory, it would be the night before.

 _He’s young. He’ll find someone else_ , Ben added with growing misery as he put the suitcase up on the bed and unzipped it to start packing, as he had so many times before in other cities in other countries.

There was no more time to go back and forth on what to do. A choice had to be made, and he felt his heart crumple as he did.

_I love you, Anakin. But I can’t ask you to give your whole life up for me._

His vision blurred with tears and he rubbed at his eyes, going to the set of drawers and opening the top one Anakin had cleaned out and let him use when he had moved in the month before. _I was never meant to be happy anyway. Not for long._

_I’ll get packed up and leave right now, before I can do anything stupid. Call a car to take me to the airport and just stay there the rest of the day._

Ben thought wistfully of the last time he and Anakin had rehearsed the pas de deux a few days earlier, both of them comfortable and confident as they glided across the studio floor. That had felt right, so achingly right, and he half-heartedly chastised himself for missing Anakin already.

_No. Your greediness almost cost him his chance to be a principal. Don’t go and make sure that it does._

He took a shallow breath and let it out, wiping at his eyes one more time and taking the first small pile of neatly folded clothes out of the drawer.

It took so little time to pack. It always did.

His books had already been shipped over to Satine, who was always kind enough to hold on to them whenever he moved until he found a permanent place, and his drawings were already rolled up and tucked away in his suitcase.

Within ten minutes all that was left of his life here was snugly packed away. Ben could recall this exact moment from other places, the second when he knew it was all over and it was time to go. Sometimes it was night and the only sound was city traffic outside, others the middle of the day and the sound of ships outside his window.

Leaving usually brought with it a sense of excitement, though weariness had stolen in alongside it the last few moves at having to pick up and start over once again.

But today there was only dread, an acute pain in Ben’s chest that felt so different from the grey fog the worst bouts of his depression often left him lost in. This felt like dying, and he sat on the side of the bed with his head in his hands for a long while, trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter what he wanted.

_Just call for the car._

When Ben had been a young dancer there had been days that had almost killed him, it had felt like at the time, his legs and feet hurting so badly after hours of practice he didn’t think he could manage another step. But somehow he always had found the thread of steel hidden deep inside himself that allowed him to work through the pain, and he forced himself to find it one more time as he picked up his phone and dialed.

 

* * *

 

Anakin did his best to lose himself in dancing that morning, but every time the choreographer called a break he found himself unable to stay away from his bag and the cell phone inside it. But there were no messages from Ben, and as the sun shifted in the wintry sky outside, crawling through silver haze, he felt a dark, awful knot begin to form in his stomach.

Padme sat down with him for lunch, the two tucked away in one of the bare concrete stairwells and separate from the loud, friendly noise of the rest of the dancers. “Hey,” she said carefully, sitting down on the cold steps next to him as he typed a message and then deleted it before he could send it. “Any word?”

“No,” he said, zipping his hoodie up against the chill of the stairwell and trying to remain hopeful. “You don’t have to be out here with me, you know.”   

“I know,” she said, but didn’t move, reaching over instead to rub his back as they sat there, listening to people laugh and talk outside in the hall.

Anakin checked his phone one more time and tucked it away in a pocket, looking at the pre-packaged salad she dug out of her bag and offered him. “I bought you lunch. It didn’t look like you brought anything.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking the plastic bowl with a sigh. “I forgot to pack something. I just… I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could this morning.”

“Did you two talk? About it?”

“No.” He looked at her, struggling to find what to say. “I’m sorry. I’m such an asshole, Padme.”

“What are you talking about?” She scooted closer to him until their legs touched, the way they used to sit when they were younger, and opened up her own salad, the peel of plastic loud in the stairwell.

“Here I am hoping Ben will let me go with him. Away from you. And you’re still trying to help me.”

It was Padme’s turn to sigh as she leaned against him, an affectionate bump of her head against his shoulder. “Anakin, you know I’d be sad to see you go. You’re my best friend. But you love him. You love him so much, and he makes you so happy. I don’t want to stand in the way of that. And we still can be best friends even if you’re far away, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, wrapping an arm around her. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, the simple words unable to encompass just how grateful he was for her friendship and her kindness in the midst of his growing fear.

“Anytime, Ani,” she smiled back, worry clear in her gaze as she patted his leg.

They ate in silence, Anakin barely picking at his food, sliding his phone out of his pocket every few minutes.

“Did he say he’d text you?”

“No. I just, I’m hoping he does, you know? Anything. Something like ‘See you at 6.’ or ‘See you there.’ or ‘You forgot your clothes for tonight, I’ll bring them.’” He shrugged, biting his lip and peering at the screen one more time, trying to fight down the dread that had been growing since he and Ben had given each other a quick, perfunctory kiss on the cheek as he had left for the Center.

“Maybe you should just put it away for a while,” Padme said, tracing her hand up and down his back in a soothing line of heat. “It’ll make the time go by faster if you don’t keep checking it.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” He took a deep breath and stuffed the phone back into the bag sitting next to him, worry tight in his gut. “Maybe I shouldn’t check it again today. Until after the show tonight.”

“Why?”

“If… if he tells me goodbye I don’t want to see it until after the performance,” Anakin said, doing his best to sound like someone calm and cool and professional, pushing down a wave of anxiety with so much effort it was difficult to speak. “I don’t… think it would be… you know, a good idea for my dancing to see it before then.” _Don’t think about what any of those words mean._

_Don’t think about tonight. Or tomorrow. Just right now._

Padme hugged him again, her arms warm around him as she buried her face into his chest. “I’ll be there tonight, even if he isn’t, Ani. You won’t be alone.”

“Thanks,” he murmured even as fear ran bright and icy through him at hearing his fear said aloud.

“And Sabe’s coming too. She’s already told me she’s kicking Ben’s ass if he’s stupid enough to not show up.”

Anakin gave a dry, hollow chuckle, eager to be distracted. “Is she going to hunt him down?”

“Like a dog.”

“I like her.”

“Me too.”

The two of them sat together in the empty stairwell, silent and thoughtful, until the loud tramping of feet in the hallway behind them told them lunch was over and everyone was heading back to the studios. As Anakin helped Padme up, he felt a sudden spark of hope for the first time since his apartment door had closed behind him that morning. _Maybe it will be ok. Maybe he will come tonight after all._

 

* * *

 

Ben stood off to the side inside the entrance of the airport terminal, the towering glass wall that faced out onto the street looming over him as it sprawled out in either direction in neatly-divided squares of grey, blustery sky.

A gust of frosty air drifted over to him every now and then as people came inside to the dry rumble of luggage rolling across the floor, tugging their scarves off and looking around before heading off with purpose toward their check-in counters.

He knew he should be doing the same, but when he had come through the automatic doors almost an hour ago he had slowed and then stopped, earning a rough curse from the man entering behind him.

 _This is it_ , he had been thinking with hopelessness, looking at the giant American flag hanging from the ceiling over the vast, airy space of the departure terminal. _When I walk over to that counter and check in, it’s over._

_I don’t want it to be._

Wandering over to the side, out of the way of the doors, Ben had stood there, fighting the hollow ache in his chest as he tried to regain control of his emotions. He tried to reason with himself, that it was best for Anakin he left, and when that didn’t work tried to bully himself for being weak and selfish. But nothing he said could move the despair in his heart aside enough to let him perform the simple action of walking up to his airline’s counter just across the spacious lobby.

_I can’t do this. I have to but I can’t._

Feeling more lost than ever, he pulled his phone out and tapped Satine’s number. _Please pick up. Please_ , he prayed as it beeped in his ear, nervously running his hand over a hidden bruise along his collarbone.

“Ben?”

“Hello.” There was a rustling sound and a door closing, and Ben scrubbed at his beard nervously. “Is now a bad time?”

“No, no. I just got off work and was coming home. You caught me opening my door. Isn’t today the day?” she asked as casually as she could, giving him the chance to explain why he had called.

“Yes,” he admitted, not knowing what to say and pausing as a recorded safety announcement echoed overhead. “Satine, I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you at the airport?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Obi,” she said, and he could imagine her curling up on her sofa, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. It was what she always did when she was nervous, and he felt awful for making her worry even as he was desperate to hear her voice. “So you’re leaving without dancing with him tonight?”

“I don’t know. I… I haven’t checked in.”

“Do you want to?”

He sighed and turned away from the terminal, back toward the cold, grey day outside, his soul feeling jagged and raw. “I don’t know. I love him so much, Satine. I do.”

“I know,” she answered softly, and he knew she was leaning into the phone as if he were sitting next to her.

_She always used to put her head on my shoulder when we would stay up late laughing and talking. Was I ever that young? Have I ever been that happy since?_

_I was with Anakin_ , he thought bleakly. “But that’s not enough. My love isn’t worth enough to take him away. And I have to leave.”

“Well, Ben… do you?” came the question, so delicate he almost didn’t hear it over the sound of another chime echoing overhead. “I mean, do you have to leave?”

 

* * *

 

Anakin sat in one of the rented theater’s dressing room chairs and studied his own reflection. Around him people hurried back and forth, carrying armfuls of clothes or leaning in toward the mirror on either side of him, and he distantly realized he should get up and make room for one of the other performers. He took one last, hard look at himself in the mirror, and tried to see what was wrong with him, but he only saw blue eyes edged in liner and the scar he had never gotten to tell Ben about running down one side of his face.

 _And now I never will_ , he thought to himself, standing and moving back into the crowd as another dancer slid into his chair. The schedule had him on in twenty minutes, and he glanced down at his bag stuffed under the dressing room tables along with a stack of others like it. His phone, in one of the outer pockets, had buzzed twice while he was getting ready, but Anakin hadn’t checked it.

He knew what the messages would be. At 6:02, what else could they be? _‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘Goodbye.’? He better not have sent ‘I love you.’_ Anakin wanted to be angry: it was safe to be angry, to lose himself in the heat of spite and fury. But there was only sadness, so deep and sudden it was hard to piece thoughts together at all.

“Ani?” Padme hesitantly asked as she came over to him, touching his arm and pulling him out of his morose glare down at the floor. “Any word?”

He considered telling her about the texts, but he knew she would insist on seeing the messages and Anakin felt he owed it to Bail to get through at least part of the performance they had promised. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ani.” She gave him a tight hug, and he returned it with a weak, distracted one of his own.

“It’s… look… we’ll do what we talked about last week. You head up to the sound board.” Anakin took a perverse pride in how calm he sounded. “I’ll dance my part as if he were there, and then do my variation, and you tell the sound guys to fade the music out.”

 _One last dance for us, Ben_ , he told himself as Padme nodded and left with one last squeeze of his hand. _For what we had._

_And then?_

Anakin had no answer for what would come after, no ability to fathom what the future would be like. There was only standing in the dressing room, stretching backstage, and then raising his hand when the stage manager’s assistant came for him to lead him on the familiar walk through the dimly lit shadows. The woman, muttering into her headset as they walked behind the stage to the far side where Anakin would enter from, passed along what Anakin quietly told her, that Ben would not be there.

The dancers for the act before them were already lined up, a jazz group that sailed out to red lights and the heavy bass of music suggesting a heart beat, and Anakin found himself looking across the stage toward the far side again and again, looking where Ben should be.

_Please be there. I love you._

_I need you._

_Please, Ben._

But there was only the faint, shifting shadows of people walking back and forth, and by the time the jazz group’s routine was over and they thundered back offstage to loud applause, Anakin had given up and was looking down at the floorboards.

_Just get through this. You can do it. Just a few minutes out there._

He closed his eyes and stood up straight and tall, taking in a single breath and letting it out in one trembling exhale. Anakin could dance through incredible pain, but it felt cruel and unfair to him that this, the worst pain he had ever known, could happen to him while his body was rested and whole.

_I love you._

_I will always love you._

_I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you._

Anakin opened his eyes, fighting back tears, and froze in place as the first strains of their music drifted across the stage.

A familiar shadow, dressed in ecru to counter Anakin’s dark colors, was hurrying forward into the twilight of the wings on the other side.

_Ben?_

The lean silhouette was nodding his thanks to the stage manager that had shooed him into place with an annoyed gesture, and as he turned back toward Anakin there was no mistaking the face revealed in the weak light.

 _Hello_ , Ben’s sheepish, hopeful smile said without words. _I made it_.

Anakin could only stare for a long moment, hand sliding up over his mouth as their song brightened and rolled along. _You’re here. You’re here._

Still smiling, Ben waved out toward the glittering lights of the stage, gently pointing out Anakin was missing his entrance.

 _Oh. Yeah. Dancing. We’re dancing,_ he thought with a soft, giddy laugh, and bounded out into a quicker version of his first steps to catch up to the music, traveling across the stage and into the light jump of a jetté battu. Ben was already coming out toward him, catching up as well, and as Anakin extended into an arabesque on muscle memory alone Ben reverently caught his hand and turned him in place, Anakin’s heart and mind racing as their fingers touched.

 _You came_.

He beamed as Ben danced away with a smitten look of his own, Anakin spinning into a pirouette and following him with curious, ethereal steps so perfectly contrasted by Ben’s precise lines. _I’m going_ , he thought in amazement as their two characters slowly fell in love to the music, one tender caress and pose at a time. _I’m leaving New York._

He slid his hand along Ben’s chest, the heat of his partner’s body and the sound of his feet moving across the floor bringing him back to the moment, and lifted him up as they had practiced a hundred times before.

Anakin’s variation was next, and as he sat Ben down and knelt, hands held out to him as Ben retreated offstage with an affectionate nod, Anakin wondered for a moment if he had imagined him.

_No. He’s here._

He turned back toward the audience, as happily dazed as his character, and launched into the bold jumps and flourishes of his variation with new energy. Everything came easily, as if he had practiced this part all his life, and joy suffused every step as he strutted and whirled under the lights.

Fear was there, fear of the unknown, of what Anakin would do wherever they ended up, of what he could be if he couldn’t be this, but at the moment it didn’t matter. _He loves me, and he chose us._

When he finally moved offstage in delicate traveling steps to end his variation, all he could do was stare as Ben glided out for his own. _We’re leaving New York. Together._

He thought of the first time he had arrived in the city, a nervous boy barely into his teens gaping in awe at the gaudy energy of Times Square. Memories of meeting Padme, of the easy way they joked with and teased each other from the beginning, rose up bittersweet.

More memories came as Ben spun and danced in crisp, clean motions, lithe and elegant under the spotlights.

The pride in Anakin’s mother’s voice when he had told her the school wanted to keep him on past the summer.

Anakin’s first soloist role, dancing in lush red alongside three other men as part of Balanchine’s ‘Rubies’.

The long hours and hard times when his instincts were too wild, when he was first learning to balance his fire with the control that seemed so hard to find.

The opening night of Swan Lake, pulse pounding when he first strode out as Prince Siegfried.

 _Is he worth it? Leaving that behind?_ Anakin asked himself as he watched Ben extend into a beautiful arabesque center-stage, but he already knew the answer, felt it cool and still inside him like the truth of his love for Ben the morning after their first night together.

_Yes._

It would still hurt, Anakin knew, but that didn’t make it any less worth it.

And then Ben was fading back out of sight, Anakin up once again, and he skipped out in a ring of jetés around the stage, barely feeling the floor as he landed and jumped in a graceful search for the other.

When he finally came to rest, legs neatly crossed in fourth position, Anakin closed his eyes and waited for the light touch of Ben’s hand on his shoulder, breaths coming hard and fast. _I’m yours._

He heard Ben silently approaching from behind to begin the coda, the last part of their pas de deux, his footsteps felt through the floorboards more than heard. _I’ll always be yours_ , Anakin swore as he waited, his heart thudding in his chest. _Always._

And then Ben was there, his warm hand on Anakin’s shoulder and two words whispered softly in Anakin’s ear.

“I’m staying.”

Staring out across the audience, Anakin could only blink as Ben pulled him around with a loving smile at the stunned question in Anakin’s eyes. _You’re staying?_

Ben gave a subtle nod, already drifting away in short, playful movements, and Anakin followed him, every step they had practiced sharp with delight and disbelief as he realized what Ben’s words meant.

_He’s staying._

_We’re staying._

_I don’t have to give this up._

Anakin wanted to laugh and cry and shout as they danced together and then apart, again and again as the music built up, coming closer each time, lingering against the heat of the other a little more before breaking away. He didn’t understand what was happening, but that could wait. Everything could wait.

There was only the two of them and the stage they floated across, and every extension, every line and step and flourish, was another love letter written in words Anakin would never be able to say.

_See me._

Ben moved with him, joy bright in his own eyes, there every time Anakin reached out or fell back, hands trembling a bit when they slid over him.

_Love me._

They spun together in perfect contrast-- light and shadow, grace and passion-- as the song drew to an end, Anakin finally sliding to his knees as he lifted his face in adoration toward Ben crossing back to him.

Ben knelt, breathlessly taking Anakin’s face in his hands, and kissed him in the perfect still of the theater as the last note faded away.

Unable to hold back any longer, Anakin melted against him, eagerly returning the kiss as a swell of applause rose from the audience.

And a whistle he knew had to be Sabe.

Ben laughed happily against his lips and pulled him to his feet for their bows out toward the darkened theater. Anakin was only dimly aware of taking his under the hot lights as the audience clapped, watching Ben do the same before they disappeared into the gloom of the wings, hand in hand as the lights went down to set up for the next act.

“You’re staying? In New York?” Anakin whispered as soon as they were away from the stage, safely lost in shadow as Ben turned toward him and a new song echoed out through the theater.

“Yes,” he said, reaching up to cup Anakin’s face in a gentle caress, voice low with affection.

“But Paris…”

“It was never a guarantee. And I realized something.”

“What?” Anakin murmured, leaning into Ben’s palm, entranced by the tranquil sound of his voice in the dark and still unable to completely believe this was happening.

“I’m tired of traveling. I want a home. And… well…” He brushed a lock of Anakin’s hair out of his face, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “You’re home, Anakin.”

Anakin flung his arms around Ben with a quiet cry of elation as Ben continued, his own voice shaking a little as he pulled Anakin close. “It doesn’t matter where you go,” he said, burying his face against Anakin’s throat, every word warm and beautiful against his skin. “It’s who you’re with.”

 

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

 

The studio lay edged in summer sunlight and the rhythm of small feet across the floor as Ben counted in a calm, measured voice. Occasionally giving advice to the children he walked between, he paused here and there, kneeling down by one tiny dancer after another to nudge their feet into the right places. “Real fifths, boys. Finish as neatly as you start.”  

“Mr. Kenobi?” one of them called from the front of the class as they all wobbled in place. “Someone’s here!”

He looked up across a sea of tousled hair and black and white uniforms, pleasantly surprised to find Anakin, practice bag slung over one shoulder and waving through the glass window set into the door. “Thank you. All right, everyone, let’s rest for a moment! Sit down in your rows, please.”

The class arranged themselves quickly, lines more or less straight as all of them craned their necks to see who was at the door when Ben opened it. “Hello. Did I forget my dinner again?”

“Yeah,” Anakin held up a bag to a crackle of plastic. “Thought I’d drop it off on my way in and had some help from this young lady here.” He smiled down at a girl lingering shyly next to him, hands clasped behind her back. “Her teacher said she could help me find your class.”

“Oh, I see. Well, thank you, Ahsoka,” Ben said, taking the tote and leaning out to give Anakin a kiss on the cheek. “You are always so helpful.”

“Is he really your husband?” she asked Ben in the loudest stage whisper possible.

“Yes, dear,” he said patiently as Anakin grinned.

“Is he really a principal?”

“Yes, dear,” he repeatedly absent-mindedly, thinking about something as Anakin lifted his hand for an eagerly returned high-five from the little ballerina. “In fact, if you have a minute, Anakin? I’m sure my students would enjoy meeting you.”

“Sure.” He patted the girl on the back. “It was nice to meet you, Ahsoka.”

“You too!” She took off around the corner, peering back around it in delight before Ben’s raised eyebrow sent her on her way. “I met a real principal!” she shouted to no one in particular, giggling as she took off down the hall.

“I like that kid,” Anakin chuckled as he stepped inside, nodding a greeting to the boys now staring wide-eyed at him.

“Me, too. Now, class,” Ben said with pride, “this is Anakin Skywalker, a professional ballet dancer. Have any of you heard of him?”

Hands shot up as excited chatter filled the room, Ben giving Anakin an impressed nod.

“Oh, they’re yours now,” Ben teased him, walking over to sit in a chair in the corner as Anakin gave a playful bow. “All right, everyone, one question at a time for Mr. Skywalker, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over! Thank you so much for reading! <3 <3 <3
> 
> And well, it's not really over. You see, while I usually put characters to bed once their stories finish I've had these two around for seven months now and I'm not ready to do that just yet. They're just too much fun to write. 
> 
> So I will be doing at least two one-shots at some point in the next few months (not on a regular schedule, just when I have time and the mood hits me right). Possibly more...
> 
> One will be the promised top-Anakin I mentioned chapters ago, probably put up as part of a "Codaverse" series but not on this actual fic. 
> 
> And the other one-shot I know I'll do will be Ben and Anakin's wedding. :) I will add it as a bonus chapter here, so if you subscribe to the story you'll know when I upload it.
> 
> Thank you again for all of your support, and hopefully see you around on other stories! Y'all are the best!


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